


The Second Most Important Thing

by brucebannerisms



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Excessive Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucebannerisms/pseuds/brucebannerisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chronological exploration of the origins of Götzeus.</p><p>It begins shortly after Marco joins Dortmund.</p><p>Currently writing about: January 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing for Keeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's Perspective

When Marco came out to the squad shortly before the start of the season in his first year at Dortmund, everyone took it very well. There had been a lot of drama recently with regards to queer players in Bundesliga and he had only wanted to carry on the het boy facade for as long as it took for everyone to warm up to him. A few players made sure to emphasize to him that nothing would change in the dressing room, and it only means they will know to protect him if anything ever went public. As a squad they would fight any homophobia that might threaten any of their own. He only hoped that he didn't come across as too nervous or too weak. He would analyze the reactions in his head dozens of times in the coming weeks, he knew. He had felt it necessary that they know so that there were no secrets within the team. It was better for him to face any problems they had with him out in the open than spend his energy trying to be something else. He hoped they understood that, but was more than prepared to fight any consequences that may arise. It had certainly gone better than he had expected so far, but he knew he wasn't out of the water yet.

And so Marco would have gone home that night with a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, ready to attack the rest of the season feeling all that more free to be confident and be himself. He had tried not to let the secrecy affect his game, and he didn't think it did all that much, but it felt like he couldn't truly be a team player if he was hiding a piece of himself.

It would have all been perfect, he thought, if it weren't for Götze stopping him as the team were heading their separate ways. Robert Lewandowski, who was quick to befriend Marco and one of the only teammates who had already known, shook Marco's hand and pulled him in for a one-armed hug, habitually covering his mouth as he muttered in Marco's ear, "Told you it would be no problem." Before thumping him hard on the back, barking a laugh and jogging away before Marco's quick arm could smack him back. As he was laughing a little nervously he noticed that Mario had been lingering behind Lewy, looking a little awkward but a lazy grin crossed his face when his eyes met Marco's. He grasped Marco's hand firmly, an odd gesture at the end of training when they weren't close at all and given the context, but Marco tightened his grip back, not taking his eyes off the shorter man. Why does this feel like a challenge? 

"So you're gay, huh?" Mario said casually, releasing Marco's hand and immediately running a hand through his hair. Nervous gesture? No, just habit. Get a grip Marco.

"That's what I said, didn't I?" Marco replied, maybe a bit too coolly. Unsure of Mario's angle, Marco was prepared for some antagonism that he had been expecting from at least one or two teammates, though Mario wasn't one he had in mind. "And if you've got a problem with it you can take it up with my track record and with the--"

"No, I haven't got a problem. I just wanted to clarify." Mario replied, and somehow it sounded like a question. Marco took a few steps backwards, still unsure of Mario's angle and thinking this conversation was about ready to be over. Mario wrapped up the conversation with what could only be described as a diabolical smirk and spun around, heading swiftly in the opposite direction. "See you around, Reus" he called over his shoulder. Marco frowned at the corkboard just to his left, one foot crossed over the other in the middle of a step, the coloured papers blurring into a kaleidoscope of bright technicolour squares. He wanted to punch something. He hears the door slam behind Mario and jolts back to his senses. He blinks a few times, rubs the back of his neck and bends to pick up his bag. 

Marco futilely tries to tell himself that it all went better than he could have expected and he should find comfort in that, but he can already tell that the ongoing stress of being a gay footballer would keep him up tonight. He can already feel the hours he will spend on the treadmill, lifting weights, doing crunches, despite a gruelling day training. He slowly walks down the deserted hallway, his footsteps echoing across the shiny floor. As he pushes open the door his phone beeps, and when he gets to his car he sees a message from Lewy.

I know your plans for the night, ditch them and come have a beer with Anna and I. Take a break Reus.

Robert was all too aware of Marco's ongoing anxiety issues, something it has now struck Marco as being a potential issue. He can already feel himself distancing himself from his closest friend at the club.

Cheers but my only plan for the night is a movie in bed. Need my beauty sleep ;)

He knew Robert wouldn't buy it but also that he wouldn't push. Or maybe he would believe him. It's not like Robert could know what Mario said and how much it would affect Marco. Hopefully Marco had convinced Lewy what he was trying to convince himself, that it didn't matter what the squad thought as long as they accepted him and as long as nothing changed on the pitch.

When Marco got home he checked the whatsapp group chat for the squad to find conversation going on as usual. Weidenfeller had posted a tactical critique article which a few other players had read (or more likely glossed over) and were discussing, including Mario. One of the last messages was about him.

Mario: I will be interested to see how Reus and Lewy weigh in on this, considering they are among the ones mentioned in the article.

Marco was greatly comforted by the fact that the world had not stopped, that the game went on, and that nothing seemed to have changed with his teammates (especially Mario). Instead of changing into training gear, as planned, he sent the article to print and sat at his eat-in kitchen with a beer, studiously reading the article and highlighting important bits that applied to him, and tried to tell himself that he always took these things seriously and wasn't working harder than usual to impress. 


	2. Mixed Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's Perspective

Nearly 2 months since Marco came out to the club and things were as good as he could have hoped. An impressive enough number of goals and appearances under his belt, he was all too happy with his decision to return to the club of his youth. He had developed a great relationship with most of the team, and felt a lot of the stress he had carried with him to the team in July had all but evaporated. Things felt almost perfect. He had been right in thinking that being out to the team would make him feel less anxious and he spent less nights awake exercising as a distraction. He even started seeing a boy. It was a guy he had known for quite some time and they had previously been texting a lot but Marco had been too worried about the new team to take it any further. Even now, they avoided going out in public, but they had some good nights staying in.

Everything would have been perfect, if he didn't have this strange feeling about Mario.

It started with the day he came out, the strange look in the corridor, and continued with inappropriate (?) or more accurately probing text messages that he still didn't understand.

What's your policy on other footballers?

A text message sent by Mario at 2am on an off night. Half asleep, Marco read the question several times before replying.

My policy? On other footballers?

He thought he knew what Mario was getting at, but was going to draw him out so he could nip this issue in the bud. What was with this guy. Be firm but calm, Marco told himself. And don't ruin the relationship with harsh words, he reminded himself firmly. He didn't take kindly to being pushed around.

Have you ever dated or slept with another player in your club or in the league?

No, and I have no interest in any other footballers. Are you accusing me of something here?

I'm just wondering. So you've got a boyfriend then?

He was seeing someone casually, he thought of telling him, but then reconsidered. Other players, including Mario, were fairly open about girls they had been seeing, but still other players were more private. Marco was a very private person by necessity, and so his first reaction to questions like this was to get his back up. But then, he didn't want to seem as though he was closing himself off from the team.

Sorry Götze I'm just a private person. I'm not seeing anyone but please stop asking me. If I want to share, I will. As to why you are asking me such intrusive questions, I'll go to Klopp if I feel like you are behaving in a way that will translate to bad work on the pitch. I'm not interested in you and to imply anything otherwise is harassing me just because I am gay.

Just being friendly, no need to bring in the boss. Night Reus, see you around.

Still utterly confused by this boy he has such great chemistry with on the pitch, Marco rolled over, considering whether he should confront Mario after training tomorrow, to try to figure out what was going on. It had been a few weeks and Mario had backed off, in fact Mario had started a few matches and they played very well together at Dortmund, but he still always felt like something was slightly off. Better to come out now than in the middle of a knockout round somewhere along the line. His phone beeped again.

I'm not seeing anyone either. In case you were going to be polite and pass the question back to me.

Marco had to smile at that. Maybe the guy just can't sleep. Having girl problems and wants to talk it out. With a friend.

Well then I guess that answers me wondering why you were still awake. I am sorry you're not getting laid :P

Mario responded with a picture of himself in the dark, head cocked, lips slightly puckered in a bit of a pout.

You don't have to rub it in. And you're not getting laid either.

I can hardly see you in the dark but do you always go to bed with your hair styled so perfectly?

Indeed, Mario's hair was styled in the usual puffy fashion. Sure, Mario is good looking. Many people are good looking, doesn't mean he'd try to sleep with them. Or take any interest at all. Or even notice. Hardly.

Mario responded with another photo, flash on, winking, hair slightly mussed as if he had run his hand through it before taking the second photo.

And your eyebrows are so well sculpted. If I didn't hear about your escapades so often...

Mario responded with yet another photo, forgetting the flash again, what looked like a growl.

Why you fronting on my eyebrows? And what is that supposed to mean?

It just means that I've dated a fair deal of guys who like to keep their eyebrows just so. Just saying ;)

At this point Marco is unsure how he went from snapping at Mario for making gay comments to joking about gay stereotypes he himself is often labelled with. He is unsure how it went from wanting this guy to fuck off, to flirting with him. And after all, he had branded himself with a strict no dating footballers policy. Hadn't he? And now he was getting way ahead of himself. Wrap it up, Reus. When it seemed like Mario wouldn't respond, Marco wondered if it was okay to leave the conversation there. He didn't want to start backtracking and end up saying the wrong thing. But then Mario ended the conversation for him.

Well then I guess you have good taste. Night Reus, see you around.

Marco read the message and didn't respond. It seemed like he had scared Mario away and maybe that meant he would stop with the questions. He hoped that training would carry on as usual.

And then a few days later.

I saw that guy picking you up after the match, you didn't have to lie about seeing someone.

Marco didn't respond. Things carried on as usual in training which seemed like a good sign.

A few days after that, Mario sent him another picture. Clearly from that night they had been texting when Mario had sent him a few pics of himself in the dark, in this one he had his tongue out. After he sent:

Good match, Reus, but I will do you one better.

Referring to the 2 goals Marco had scored in the last match against Gladbach.

As if

Marco just had to reply, despite the fact that Mario, at just 20 years old, had already broken several records.

And then, a month later, he said,

Check it out, I got instagram

With a link to his first post. The 4 pictures he had sent Marco set with a border and the caption "Wanna make your body rock :D". Marco followed him back and liked the picture, and tried not to read too much into it. The situation was starting to become too much, and Marco found himself continually telling himself not to do anything stupid. Mario and Marco were already making news about being a great duo in Bundesliga, and if he were being honest, he had entertained a few inappropriate thoughts. Harmless, really, him and Mario were close and he didn't intend to do or say anything to jeopardize their game, but to deny the thoughts existed wouldn't help. Mario was a good looking guy, he had noticed that long before he even joined him at Dortmund.

Once he had let the thoughts into his head, Marco couldn't help but feel friendlier towards Mario. Enjoying their celebratory hugs and playful banter during training. They were quickly becoming known around the team as being close both on and off the pitch, and Marco continued to convince himself it was harmless. Unfortunately for him, Mario had a different idea.


	3. Undefended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter but from Mario's perspective. I'm sorry he's so vulgar and dirty but I like him like that.

Mario remembers seeing Marco for the first time and immediately entertaining dirty thoughts about him. He was just so pretty, he wanted to see him undone. He wanted his hands messing up that beautiful hair as Marco's lips were around his cock. He wanted Marco on all fours and to feel that tight ass against his thighs as he thrust himself all the way inside of him.

But then again, Mario entertains these thoughts about a lot of people.

When the Reus kid came out to the entire team only a few weeks after coming aboard at Dortmund, 2 things first came to his head.

One, that kid was brave. It had never even occurred to Mario to ever tell his club anything of this sort, and he actively played up his heterosexual relationships just to muddy the water as much as possible. Sometimes he'd tell graphic anecdotes of encounters he had and just change the pronouns in the story. Karl became Kathryn and maybe he even took her up the ass. But a lot of the times his stories were unchanged, as he had about as many female as male partners. Did he feel like a liar? Not really. Why should they know this thing about him? He figured he would marry a woman in the end anyway, so why make things difficult for himself. Cue a cliche joke about a football player liking balls, and anyway it's none of his teammates business who he takes home with him. Well, it hadn't been, until now.

Which is where part two comes in. Two, that kid, who is not actually a kid at all but several years older than him, is a possible shag? It was probably quite vain to assume that just because Marco was interested in men that he would be interested in Mario, but you don't get to be the youngest player to score a goal for Germany by being self conscious. You get there by confidence. And discipline.

Which probably includes not fucking your teammates, but Mario had never really thought that a distinct possibility before.

At this point, while many of the players are shaking hands with Marco and telling him it changes nothing and blah blah blah (gag, I love my team but enough with the heroics he just fucks men), Mario is entertaining the possibility of yanking Marco by the arm right now, dragging him into a deeper part of the locker room, shoving him against the wall and having him within earshot of the rest of the team. Or, more preferably, Marco taking him, one hand over Mario's mouth to stem the flow of profanities and moans he would otherwise let fly, team in hearing distance be damned.

Right, discipline. Of course this is not an actual thing that would actually happen. But still, it would be really hot.

As the team files out of the changing rooms and into the hallway Mario begins to wonder how dominant Marco would be. Having played a few matches with him for Germany, Mario knows that Marco dominates the pitch true enough. Does that translate to the bedroom? Mario realized in that moment that he had never had sex with a footballer before and mentally added it to his bucket list. Does my style of play reflect my sexual preferences? Mario wondered. Hm, this would make him versatile (almost too indicative) but also very fast...

It's probably more complicated than that.

When Mario entered the hallway he found just Marco and Robert remained, Robert was hugging Marco and probably congratulating him on being an amazing homosexual, because that's just how Robert is. They seem very close already, closer even than Marco is with German players he previously knew, Mario figures Robert might even have already known. If Mario would ever have told anyone at Dortmund about him liking men, it would have been Robert. Whatever he's saying to Marco right now is probably genuine and heart warming to the core. Gag.

Awkwardly Mario shuffles around nearby, waiting for Lewy to move along. When he does, Marco's eyebrows knit together in confusion when he sees Mario waiting there. Mario can't think why, they've talked before, right? He thinks maybe they haven't shared as many words as he might have thought, but they work well together on the pitch and that in Mario's head equates to friendship off the pitch. He gives Marco what he hopes is a winning smile but thinks maybe it was a little wide of the mark. Oh well.

Shake hands, that's what the rest of the guys did, wasn't it? He takes Marco's hand in a firm handshake, and a look of confusion flashes across his face. So maybe Mario hadn't been paying attention in the dressing room. Shit, now he's being weird.

"So you're gay, huh?" Mario asks and almost wants to wince. Maybe it's a stupid question because isn't that what Marco said, but he thinks maybe Marco is also complicated the way Mario is complicated, but simplified himself for the heterosexuals who are so often confused enough with liking the same sex, never mind multiple.

Marco volleys back the words with ice. "That's what I said, didn't I?" Marco's body language is telling Mario the conversation is already over. What the fuck? Mario asks himself. Did I do something to piss Marco off? He flicks through his memory, trying to figure out whether he said something inappropriate at some point in the near past. Always a possibility, but generally Mario keeps his mouth shut. He knows what's good for him.

"And if you've got a problem with it you can take it up with my track record and with the --"

Oh jesus no.

"I haven't got a problem, I just wanted to clarify." Mario interrupts him and leaves the explanation hanging in the air between them, hoping against hope that he isn't being too obvious. How did the last 10 minutes of his life turn into him almost declaring his sexuality to a teammate? This is against his own beliefs. This man is a menace.

Dangerous waters, Mario, retreat now.

"See you around, Reus." he throws over his shoulder as he strides away, trying not to break into a jog. He wants to punch something. How could he let this simple thing slice him open and threaten to expose everything he's kept under wraps for so long? 

When he gets home, Mario beats off in the shower to the dressing room fantasy, more vivid this time. Marco's blond hair falling over his face, teeth clenched as he drives hard into Mario. The cold tile against Mario's splayed palm and the echoes of skin slapping against skin. Marco holding fast onto Mario's shoulder, nails digging in as he leans over him to get the right angle, moans escaping between his teeth, tickling the shell of Mario's ear. Mario comes in his hand thinking of Marco biting his shoulder as he empties himself inside Mario's ass. He emerges from the shower pink and fresh and maybe a little bit regretful. Who the fuck does this Reus guy think he is starring in his fantasies, and he'd never really let the inappropriate thoughts about other players get this far.

And he still can't help himself mentioning Marco's name in the team whatsapp chat group discussion.

He also figures it's for the best if Marco thinks he's a bit of an asshole, as long as it doesn't affect them on the pitch.


	4. The Team Player

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 but from Mario's perspective.

In the following months Mario and Marco made regular appearances together on the field and Marco made regular appearances in Mario's fantasies. As a disciplined player, Mario rarely sexualizes things while he is concentrating on the game but sometimes he can't help but feel Marco's arms for too long when they embrace at the end of the match or overly enjoy them falling all over each other in celebration. Harmless really, but he takes what he can get to move on with things.

And then one night he takes a guy home for the first time in a long while, as he had been getting more and more paranoid that people would recognize him and catch him picking up a guy. As they had a beer in the kitchen at Mario's flat, the guy kept smiling across the table at him in a way that kept causing Marco's grin to flash across his mind. He knew that if he fucked this guy tonight he'd be imagining it was Marco, and instead of turning him on, the idea made him feel dirty, and not in the good way. He made excuses about having to work in the morning (the guy didn't know he was even a footballer, some people are so oblivious) and kissed the guy goodnight with promises to call. 

By this point it was already 2am, and Mario was staring at himself in the mirror, his eyes a little bright and his cheeks a bit flush from the prospect of getting laid that had so quickly evaporated. He sat on his bed with the lights still out and looked down at his phone. He felt a bit foolish for overthinking something he usually found so easy but it was probably for the best to cut back on the number of men who might figure out who he is and what he is and fail to keep quiet about it. He figured since he had been so good sending the guy home it was time to misbehave a little. He texted Marco, wondering if maybe he was still awake.

Why did he want to know if Marco would ever date another footballer. He didn't even want to date him, he just wanted to fuck his brains out and be done with it. Why was he putting his career on the line for a stupid fantasy and a pretty boy?

Marco's responses continued in the same vein of cold and confrontational as the last time they had talked about his sexuality, and Mario figured he couldn't blame him. Why should Marco assume Mario was interested if he wasn't willing to even suggest that he was. He had continued talking up his nights with women in the dressing room, so it was probably safe to assume that Marco thought he was straight. 

When Marco accused him of harassing him for being gay then Mario was sure Marco really had no idea. He should have left it at that. But safe is never fun for him.

He began to flirt. He considered spilling the beans about himself. Making a throw-away gendered comment about sleeping with men and seeing how Marco responded. Knowing his strengths are in his looks and because he had done himself up nice for his night plans, he sent Marco a few pictures of himself. Fantasizing that maybe Marco would beat off to pictures of him, that one day he would walk in on Marco moaning his name as he came into his hand, his phone on a cute picture of Mario cocking an eyebrow at him. He felt the blood rushing to his dick and even went as far as formulating a very forward text.

Marco made jokes about his somewhat metro appearance and Mario took the opportunity.

It just means that I've dated a fair deal of guys who like to keep their eyebrows just so. Just saying ;)

I've dated a lot of guys like that too and lbr your eyebrow game is not too bad yourself. Just saying ;)

In reality Mario had never done more than take a guy home for the night in his life but what was the difference really. He was enjoying the attention and Marco was practically saying he was attracted to him. But still, he deleted the message and said good night. Because Mario Götze is a disciplined professional who would not get himself into a bad situation with a very important player. When Marco didn't even say good night he knew he had made the right decision.

And yet every once in a while Mario couldn't help acting out on his almost constant sexual thoughts about Marco. Mild flirting that Marco would harmlessly bat away was keeping him at bay about the whole thing. If it were any other man Mario would have made a move long before now, but this was one play he could never carry out. 

Sometimes he felt Marco's hand would also linger too long on a post-match hug or his smile would carry a hint of lust when they were all over each other in celebrations and it drove him crazy. He wanted to take what was being offered so badly and he could almost feel that Marco wanted him to make the first move. But then the dry responses to text messages reminded him that he was living in a fantasy world, and that his dream of fucking another footballer will have to go unfulfilled for quite some time.

At least that was what Mario thought until one night he lost all of his control.


	5. A Slip in Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective. Finally some action. Not as much as we'd all like, I hate to say.

Mario had scored a hat trick. It was an amazing feeling, he was so pumped and feeling on top of the world, and Marco was walking with his arm linked in his. On the pitch he had tackled Mario to the ground and nuzzled their cheeks against each other after the third goal and Mario was on his stomach and it felt almost like being taken from behind. Then Lewy came over and dragged them apart. He didn't like the knowing look that Robert gave them but then wondered if it meant that Marco had been talking about him to Lewy. It was true that they had become very close recently, and some sports writers were even calling them a power duo. (I'll show you a power duo)

So it came down to them walking towards the parking lot together, stumbling along on a post-match high, Marco as open and welcoming towards Mario as he had ever seen him. After seeing that Lukasz was the only person around, his retreating back heading to a different lot, Mario reached out a hand and gave Marco's taut ass cheek a squeeze, something that is not altogether inappropriate for teammates. Marco slapped Mario's hand away and stepped away from him.

"What are you playing at," he asked Mario angrily. Mario was utterly taken aback, this was not like anything he had ever fantasized about.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Mario replied sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. How to get out of this awkward situation.

"You're always saying and doing inappropriate things to me Mario, we are great friends, but we need to set some boundaries. If I didn't know very well that you are straight, I would say that you are leading me on." Marco said this in a very straight forward way, maintaining eye contact with Mario, challenging him. He had no fucking clue.

"I'm not." Mario said, a bit feebly, without as much confidence as he would have liked.

"Really? Then what's with all the weird text messages, the instagram picture, why are you--"

"I mean I'm not straight." Mario said with more confidence. He wanted to laugh but was also kind of pissed off that Marco didn't see what he was trying to say.

"I'll believe that when you stop describing in great detail the girl you slept with the night before at nearly. Every. Training session." Marco said slowly, as if explaining something to a young child. This time Mario's anger got the better of him. He kicked a nearby pylon on the road and walked ahead of Marco for a minute, considering storming away and returning to training after the holidays to act as if this conversation never happened. But no.

Mario spun around and pinned Marco to the brick wall. He pressed the length of his body against Marco, who had stiffened against the sudden movement. Mario grabbed Marco by the collar, pulling his head towards him and stood on his toes to be closer to Marco's face. He inhaled the heady smell of Marco's cologne. God, he loved that smell. He stood motionless, their lips only a few centimetres apart. Marco drew in a ragged breath before mumbling, "I don't understand."

This caused Mario to push harder against Marco, gripping one hand on each of Marco's hip bones, driving his lower body into the wall. He rested his forehead against Marco's chest, his lips away from doing anything so stupid as kissing a teammate. But then he felt Marco's arms wrap around his waist and feel a little ways up the small of his back. He felt Marco shift uneasily from one foot to the other, a tell tale sign that his pants are becoming uncomfortable, although Mario doesn't feel anything, pressed as close as they are against each other. "I just don't understand." He said again, softly this time. Before Marco could lead the kiss, tilt Mario's face towards his and part his lips, Mario took the lead. He looked straight into Marco's eyes before leaning in and kissing him hard and deep, thrilled by Marco's arms moving to wind farther up his back, to pull him in closer. Thrilled by the feeling of Marco's cock hardening against his leg. He broke off the kiss with an embarrassing gasp and released his grip a bit, putting a bit of distance between them.

"There's such a thing," he began, moving his hands to caress the side of Marco's thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles along the front of Marco's pants. "As bisexuality," he finished, smirking and taking relish at having finally said the word aloud.

Mario wished with his entire body that he could ignore Marco’s lips forming an O as he responded with surprise at the statement. It felt too much like disbelief and Mario had had his share of gay boys who didn’t believe in his sexuality. For just a second longer he increased the pressure of his hips against Marco’s before drawing away, and was extremely satisfied by the way Marco’s body slumped as if Mario had made him weak. He was only a little angry, but the spark of anger had brought him to his senses.

“What’s the most important thing in your life, Reus?” Mario asked him, taking him by the hand and pulling him to a walk again.

“What? My career, of course. Football.” Marco responded, the confused expression Mario was starting to associate with their relationship off the pitch back on Marco’s face.

“The same goes for me. So what are we doing?”

Marco continued to frown at him as he processed what Mario was saying, and for just a second Mario regretted the hurt that colored the confusion. If only Marco knew the self-restraint he was exercising now, and the concession he would allow himself at home tonight, the fantasies that were now a part of his routine. And now it had been so close, literally, Marco’s collar in his grasp. Still right there in front of him, the slight flush to Marco’s face and the way he walked betraying his calm demeanor. He exhaled heavily but still waited for Marco to respond.

For one short moment Mario was so afraid he had ruined things, that Marco would be angry or feel so rejected he didn’t perform well as a team any longer. His heart beat sped up and he cursed himself for feeling so vulnerable in this moment and in moments before. But then Marco smiled crookedly and shoved Mario playfully in the chest, with enough force to send him reeling out into the street, unclasping their hands but grabbing his arm and yanking him back with equal force before Mario could fall into the road.

“You started it, asshole!” Marco shouted, and locking their arms he mussed Mario’s hair with his other hand, while Mario struggled to extricate himself from Marco’s grasp, absolutely livid.

Mario spent a few minutes in slightly annoyed silence, running his fingers through his hair, trying and failing to smooth it back into place.

“Relax Götze, you always look perfect.” Marco said, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. Mario decided to studiously ignore the statement and the slight blush in Marco’s cheeks as they passed under a lamp.

They walked on in a content albeit slightly awkward silence.

“So all those stories you tell in the locker rooms, are they lies?” Marco asked, peaking sideways at Mario and scuffing his feet along the curb.

Mario bit his lip and adopted a stony silence.

“I mean, it seems like every day you are talking of a new girl you have been sleeping with, but surely if you are also interested in boys…” This sounded an awful lot like backtracking. Mario knew he was being oversensitive and disallowed himself from continuing to feel hurt.

“Sometimes they’re true, sometimes they’re basically true, but with a few minor modifications.” He smirked. Marco snorted at that but took the hint from Mario’s tone, and didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, they shifted the topic to dissecting the match and congratulating each other generously on a good game. They both ignored the distance they placed between them for the rest of the short walk to the alternate parking lot where both their cars were.

That night Mario didn’t even get off as he had planned. He flipped through his phone, feeling like the cliché boy reading through his contacts but knowing there was just one boy he wanted to talk to. So he sent Marco a picture of himself, shirtless in bed, eyebrow cocked invitingly and hair artfully (and painstakingly) dishevelled in all directions, since Marco had already ruined the time he had spent styling it after the shower earlier that night.

 

I don’t always go to bed with my hair perfect. See you around, Reus.

He rolled over and inhaled the scent of Marco’s cologne that lingered on his skin.


	6. The Most Important Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective of the previous chapter.

Marco was completely overwhelmed with so many things in his life. First of all, he was competing with Robert and Mario for best goal scorer at the club and also in the league (well maybe closer to Mario than to Robert). There was a lot of talk about Mario and Marco being a powerful attacking duo and he finally started to feel more comfortable around him, the weird vibes almost dissipating entirely. Or at least they had been, until everything fell into place.

In hindsight, Marco realized he had been quite ignorant to assume that Mario was gay or straight and nothing in between, and he realized later that this assumption had hurt the younger man to some degree. Some days afterward Marco would spend hours trying to understand what it must feel like to be invalidated in that way. Marco had felt something like it, being gay, but usually people believed him, and often went as far as to act like it made all the sense in the world and they had knew it all along (his parents). 

He had made the grave mistake of asking a question to Mario in a way that suggested he misunderstood what it was to be bisexual, and Mario responded with some venom. In fact, Mario seemed to have quite a lot of pent up anger and was not afraid to act with aggression when he felt wrong footed.

And to be honest Marco was very turned on by this dominant side to him.

It was one evening after a particularly good match, Marco found himself walking alone with Mario, their arms linked in a jovial way. The club had just qualified for the Quarter finals of the DFB Pokal, and Christmas was just around the corner. He was savouring this quiet, extremely pleasant moment while also trying to focus more on the joy of winning, than on his desire to be alone with Mario. And then Mario grabbed his ass.

His first reaction was complete shock. Although ass patting and things like that were common in locker rooms and on the field, this felt different. This was a clear message to Marco but he had not been expecting it and didn't know how to respond. He had for months now settled into the idea that he was overly fond of Mario but that nothing would ever come of it. All of that aside, he had been seeing this boy Leon for a few months now, and it was getting pretty serious. They were spending Christmas together, even visiting family. Recently Leon had told Marco that he might be in love with him.

This simply wasn't fair.

Out of guilt and out of resentment at being strung along by this straight boy, Marco responded sternly, hoping to shut down any future situations that made him feel uncomfortable. Instead it led to Mario lashing out, angrily kicking over a pylon. Mario had said he wasn't straight, and Marco had no idea what he was trying to say. And then suddenly the smaller man was on him, pushing him up against the cement of the parking garage wall and taking fistfuls of his collar, breathing heavily, a hungry look in his eyes. Marco couldn't remember ever having been handled in this way, and was still extremely confused, though not without enjoying his current predicament. "I don't understand." He managed to get out. Mario rested his forehead against his Marco's chest, his ears brushing against the zipper of Marco's undone jacket. Suddenly, Marco realized he didn't care even slightly what this boy was playing at, he just wanted to enjoy this moment, enjoy Mario Götze pressed against him. This beautiful, damp haired boy whose hips were pressing into his thighs, who was ablaze with this energy he didn't quite understand. Sometimes Marco had trouble staying in a moment, always thinking too far ahead. This time he emptied his mind of everything but their hearts beating erratically and out of time. He wrapped his arms around Mario's waist, feeling the curve of his back and the waistband of his jeans and wanted to shiver with pleasure at the intimacy of the moment. He so badly wanted to feel Mario's lips on his, and he could already feel his penis hardening before anything had happened. Mario's raw energy was driving him mad. 

Before he could make another move Mario was leaning in to kiss him. If Marco had have made the first move, the kiss would have been soft, tentative, slow and sweet and with something innocent about it. Something that he could maybe take back if it turned out to be a mistake. But Mario grabbed him hard and kissed him deep and long, his tongue moving against Marco's. It felt like a kiss that promised so much more. Without even thinking Marco drew Mario closer to him, could feel Mario's erection against his thigh and he suddenly desperately wanted to be closer, to be inside of him. But suddenly Mario was pulling away, rubbing thumbs teasingly inside Marco's hips. Marco tried to gain control of his breathing and of the frenzy Mario had just made of his mind.

"There's such a thing as bisexuality." Mario said. His eyes were blazing and there was a joy in the statement, a thrill at saying the words, that caught Marco by surprise. He didn't know how to respond because this had never occurred to him.

"Oh." was all he came up with. In his mind he was trying to think through the heat burning up his ears and the back of his neck. Had he ever known someone who was bisexual before? Had he ever said something to Mario that was offensive towards bisexual people? What does this mean, really, how does Marco play into this. He was overthinking things again.

Mario had changed the course of the evening once again. He increased the pressure against Marco for one last second before separating himself from him completely, a quick movement that caused Marco to lean back against the wall to regain the balance that Mario had been maintaining with the thrust of his hips. He already felt the absence of the warmth of the other boy's body and the cold air of the night replacing the heat.

He felt as if he'd spend the rest of his life being blindsided by this gorgeous boy. And that he'd be alright with that.

Mario took his hand and in a more tender way than anything he had done that evening, he pulled Marco back onto the sidewalk to continue their walk to their cars.

"What's the most important thing in your life, Reus?"

Reus. Mario putting distance between them again. He was still trying to wrap his head around the last lightning quick change in Mario's mood.

"What? My career of course. Football." He answered unthinkingly. It was the truest and most natural answer in the world. Echte liebe.

"And the same for me as well. So what are we doing?"

Marco froze. He had let go of that thought when he wrapped his arms around Mario and felt his tongue in his mouth and the hardness against his leg. But Mario was absolutely right. How can they do such an irresponsible thing, that goes against what is to them the entire world. Although his head was still filled with the moments before this, he was glad they were finally on the same page about this one thing. When he met Mario's eyes, he could see a warmth within them, diluting the dark brown to an almost honey color. He could still see something frantic hiding back there, but in this moment, in front of that, was this calm and true passion, this comfortable faith in the sport they shared. It was time to ignore the feelings that all of this was causing inside of Marco because it went against exactly what was happening between them in this moment. The closest of friends, tied together for the love of football.

A role he could slide into with ease. 

"You started it, asshole!" Marco shoves Mario and drags him around a bit to lighten up the mood. He messes up his hair, half thinking it'll make him look a little bit less seductive, but instead Mario's pout and fingers running through his hair makes Marco want to be against the boy again.

"Relax Götze, you always look perfect" he says without thinking. Oops. He can feel his cheeks burning and hopes his tone was light enough for the moment. They carry on in silence, and Marco thinks of all the stories Mario always tells in the dressing room. Sometimes he had thought he could detect a hint of irony in Mario's tone as he graphically describes the sex he had the night before to a frowning Robert and a nodding Lukasz, Marco lingering in the background but not sure if he is part of the conversation. Mario is speaking loud enough for the entire locker room to hear, anyway.

"So all those stories you tell in the locker room, are they lies?" He asks. He brushes one foot along the side of the curb, sneaking a look at Mario. He has a feeling he's discovered something Mario feels he has been very sneaky about. But the look on Mario's face is not one who has been caught in a lie, but rather a look of hurt. 

“I mean, it seems like every day you are talking of a new girl you have been sleeping with, but surely if you are also interested in boys…” Oh boy, now he's backtracking. He doesn't want to get carried away trying to explain his thought process or else he will start rambling, so instead he plays defensive, thinking that if Mario is offended he will respond aggressively as he had before. Instead the boy smirks to himself and shares a bit of what Marco thinks is the truth. 

“Sometimes they’re true, sometimes they’re basically true, but with a few minor modifications.” A few minor modifications. Cheeky lad. Marco takes this opportunity to leave this area of conversation as it is not his business and Mario is clearly uncomfortable. He brings the subject around to the love that they share, and he and Mario silently agree to maintain an appropriate distance between them for the rest of the walk.

That night Marco cancelled celebratory plans with Leon and lays in bed, his body burning with the memory of the walk with Mario. He wonders where it could have gone, and if it went there, whether it'd be something that would affect them on the field. He gets a hard on realizing that his feelings for Mario are enough that he would risk his relationship, he would risk the consequences on the pitch, just to feel Mario's bare skin against his own. To know the noises Mario makes as he orgasms, to see the look in his eyes as he is being stroked and licked and fingered. He strokes himself thinking of Mario's firm grip on his arms, guiding them both in movements that will drive them both over the edge. Then his phone screen is flashing. He unlocks the screen with one hand to find a picture of Mario, his hair gloriously disheveled and his chest bare, one beautifully sculpted eyebrow lifted in a question. Is this what Mario would look like immediately after sex. Feeling particularly naughty, Marco strokes himself faster, staring at the picture and imagining that Mario is miles away across town, a hand on his dick wishing it were Marco's hand, or his mouth, or his ass. He brings himself to a climax, eyes squeezed shut, imagining Mario's muscles relaxing beneath him as he spills himself inside of him. He cleans himself off and deletes the picture before he starts getting any ideas.

He rolls over, his entire body relaxed, extremely content with all that had happened. They had done something foolish, it was true, but it only helped them come to the realization that they can reach an understanding that football is the most important thing. He promised himself that tomorrow he would not bother himself with thoughts of Mario and was happy for the moment they had and for the friendly moments they will have being victorious bees.

How very misguided Marco is.


	7. Sleigh Bells Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective.

The winter break means time with family, relaxing, gathering your thoughts, strength, and determination for the coming weeks of tournaments and elimination stages. But for Marco, all he can think is that it means 2 weeks not seeing Mario.

He wanted to kiss Kevin for throwing together a last minute casual party for the team, he was miserable about him and Mario leaving things on those terms before Mario went out of town for a while. Mario, he knew, was travelling somewhere warm with his family shortly after Christmas. Planned to have lots of sex too, apparently. With women, naturally.

And Marco wished in vain that they had gone to the break after a good match together, one where they went their separate ways at the end of the night so he could stop wondering what Mario was thinking about all of this. Despite his conviction that he would no longer concern himself with worries about Mario, he was desperate to see him one last time before a 2 week break. He was so used to seeing Mario practically every day, it was such a cruel way to sever the ties.

It should have been the best thing for him.

Everyone knew that Jürgen was to make an appearance which meant that they all showed up in full 3 piece suits as a sign of respect. It was pointless for Jürgen to insist that they were all friends and they didn't have to go out of their way, they loved and respected the coach enough that they felt this was only right. Marco, dressed in a tailored slate grey suit and a watch gifted from Leon for their 3 month anniversary, his hair unstyled for once, was the first to arrive to the party. Since he had opted not to spend the time on his hair he had gotten restless and headed over to the party on time when the rest, when not facing penalization for it, would most likely arrive unfashionably, ridiculously late (Kevin would send a text alert when he had an ETA for Klopp). As he walked through the door Kevin pounced on him and wrestled a santa hat onto his head, and Marco thanked himself for not wasting the time on his hair that Kevin would have ruined within seconds. He manoeuvred out of Kevin's grasp and play boxed him in the stomach a few times before dancing backwards out of his way.

"Marco, glad to find you in such high spirits." Kevin said happily as he popped the cap off a beer and slid it along the granite countertop to bump against Marco's resting fist. He took it up in his other hand and took a swig. "Why might that be?"

Why might what be? Is Marco usually a drag or something, why is Kevin asking this question.

"Looking forward to the break, to Christmas, to family, to football? Why else?" Marco held his beer up in a kind of salute then took another long swig. Kevin was looking at him in a way that was making him nervous.

"Ah yes. Sharing the time with anyone special then?" Kevin broke eye contact when he asked this, as if he were afraid he shouldn't be asking a friend a casual question about holiday plans. Maybe not quite so comfortable with the gay thing.

"No. I mean, well, yes, actually. You?" A smile broke across Kevin's face. A beautiful smile, really. A warm, comforting smile. Marco immediately felt more at ease.

"Now that you've asked, I do have a special someone I'll be spending my time with." Kevin happily explains about this girl, Nina, he had gone on a few dates with and with whom he felt he had great chemistry. Meanwhile Marco breathed a silent sigh of relief. For some reason he had felt sure that Kevin was going to mention Mario, but it seemed he had just been trying to segue breaking his own relationship news to Marco. Marco swallowed the last of his beer and without breaking the stream of conversation Kevin cracked open another beer and slid it down the counter. Marco straightened the hat on his head but didn't remove it.

Despite his assertion that he felt perfectly comfortable to spend a few hours relaxing and hanging out with his teammates, Marco accidentally finished 5 beers in the time it took for a handful more guys to trickle in. He was definitely feeling the buzz, and he realized that he had been holding his breath every time the wreath on the door jingled by way of announcing a newcomer, expecting to see Mario walking through the entrance. He wandered over to where Nuri and İlkay seemed to be arguing about something in Turkish in the living room. When they saw Marco approaching Nuri hooked an arm around Marco's waist and drew him to his side.

"Marco, tell him. Tell him that when you have children you have to spend at least 200 euros on Christmas presents." Nuri said in German, pressing his finger into İlkay's chest as he did. Marco laughed and raised his arms to say he had no clue.

"We are Muslim, why should we observe these things. Not everyone in Germany must celebrate Christmas, Şahin."

"Presents for a 1 year old child I have no idea but it looks like Großkreutz was spoiled." Marco replies, pointing towards the Christmas tree and the already opened presents scattered on the floor, leaning against the wall. He picks up a guitar, dragging a nearby chair over to sit on, and gives it a few strums.

"I think that Marco is already drunk." İlkay intones to Nuri and they both start to giggle.

Marco would have defended himself had it not been very true. He swivelled in his seat to face the room, with the intention of serenading Nuri, but then a flashing light made him blink and pause, hand in position to strum.

"Marco, it looks as if you are ready to give me quite the entrance!" Jürgen laughs loudly at his own humour and Marco's heart jumps into his throat. Time to be sober. Just in front of Jürgen stands Mario in a stunning navy suit that slims him down and practically demands to be torn off immediately. To get to the sweet surprise in the centre. Mario grins slyly at him and pockets his phone which he had just used to photograph Marco with the guitar. He turns and heads into the kitchen as Jürgen makes his rounds, taking each man's hand in both of his and wishing them a happy holiday, congratulating them on a great season so far. When he gets to Marco, he places the guitar on the ground and pulls him into a hug. "Marco, my boy, what a start at Dortmund you have had! Couldn't be happier to have you here!" He straightens the santa hat Marco only then realizes is still on his head, winks, and moves on to İlkay and Nuri.

Marco struggles to hold the room in one place and just as he is becoming more than a little confused which direction the floor actually is, a firm arm wraps itself around Marco's shoulders and a bottle of water is thrust into his hand. Sebastian beams down at him. "He's right, Marco. I hope you have enjoyed being here as much as we have enjoyed having you. You are truly a very important member of this team."

He is so overwhelmed by all the nice comments by the people he so looks up to, Marco is mortified to feel tears pricking in his eyes. He uncaps the water and swallows half of it in one go, tries to make the world sit straighter and blinks back the tears.

"You don't know what that means to me Sebastian, I have so enjoyed being a part of Dortmund, it is truly my family." Hoping he didn't slur too much.

"Yes Marco, and what does your girlfriend think of the shift of allegiance from Gladbach to Dortmund?" Łukasz asks Marco cheekily.

"What's her name again, CarLeon wasn't it?" Mario asks from behind him. Through his slightly blurred senses, he understands that Mario is saying one thing and meaning another. He rises to his feet and turns to face Mario.

"What the fuck Mario?" How can he know this thing? Mario's eyes flash in warning and he glances around at the circle of men. There is an awkward silence before Łukasz continues.

"That-that is her name, isn't it? Marco? Carolin? Sorry, I was only making a joke, I didn't mean--" 

"Sorry, I thought--that is her name. And she is a very good friend of mine. Excuse me, I feel a bit ill." Marco quickly makes an exit. He finds the hallway bathroom and closes and locks the door before he even turns on the light. He splashes water across his face and finally takes off the santa hat. 

Carolin is the name of Marco's fake girlfriend. A close friend of his since they were young, she sometimes attended events with him and they made small public shows of affection. It was moreso back when the league was trying to out the players and Marco truly felt like maybe his safety was at risk. Soon after that though, he came out to the manager of Gladbach and things cooled off. He still brought Carolin out to events time and again for the press, and she enjoyed the events so it was a way of saying thank you. But Mario hadn't said Carolin. He had said Carleon. As in Leon, his boyfriend. But there's no way Marco had ever mentioned Leon's name to Mario or anyone Mario knows. So was it a coincidence, is Marco just drunk? In truth, it had been quite some time since he had had a beer and though he was still a bit bleary, the water Sebastian had brought him and the water on his face had brought things into focus some. He was already regretting the strange show he had just made of himself, and hoped that Jürgen had not been in hearing range. What does it even matter if Mario somehow knew of Leon?

Then came a knock at the door. Marco smoothed a hand through his hair which looked flattened by the hat, feeling it was about time to head home anyway. He would ask Kevin to call him a cab. 

He opened the door and someone pushed their way into the bathroom, closing the door with Marco on the wrong side.

"I didn't even look just then. It would have been extremely hard to explain if it was anyone other than you on the other side." Mario beamed at what was probably a priceless look of surprise on Marco's face.

He came to his senses. "It will still be hard to explain, Mario, when 2 of us exit the bathroom in the middle of the hallway!" he hissed at the smaller man, who was straightening his tie in the mirror, cocking an eyebrow at himself. Good grief.

"And Kevin said you arrived in such a good mood." Mario replied absently. "Relax, nobody will notice, everybody is about as drunk as you are. Kevin is practically pouring beer down our throats!"

"Oh really, I suppose Nuri and İlkay are drunk, are they? And Jürgen!? Oh god, Mario, Jürgen--"

"--Left about as quickly as he arrived. You think I have no tactical skill whatsoever? Have a little faith, Marcinho." He was now smoothing loose hairs back into place on his perfectly styled head. Marco considered putting the santa hat back on to cover up the mess of his own head.

Finished with his own reflection, Mario turned to Marco, pushing him to a seat on a small stool next to the counter. "Now relax, will you? Please? I came to tell you that I will miss you while I am away. Maybe I am also a little drunk, but it is the truth."

Mario places a hand on Marco's chest, and Marco's pulse jumps in response. His head rushes at the thought of what could happen next. What would be so deliciously bad for them to be doing, in Kevin's bathroom, in the middle of a party. Mario's other hand runs through Marco's hair and Marco closes his eyes at the touch, mostly to try to regain control of his mind. 

"I lied, I have not had a single drink. You on the other hand have had 4 or 5 or 6 too many my friend." Speaking of lying.

"How did you know Leon's name?" Marco demands, taking both of Mario's hands off of him and standing up. Instead of retreating though, Mario lets the space become crowded for the two of them, so he is pressed up slightly against Marco. Practically asking Marco to close the gap. When Marco doesn't move, Mario backs off, leaning against the door and picking at his nails.

"He's handsome, that boy of yours. Tall and dark and older and such an honest man, an accountant, isn't he? The opposite of me in many respects. Do you love him?"

Marco's ears burned, he wanted to be anywhere but having this conversation.

"Why should you care, Mario? I heard you in the locker room about all of the, what was the phrase, bikini girls you'd bone in the Bahamas?" Mario giggled at his own line and Marco's frown deepened.

"We are at it again, Reus. And so I will simplify things. I will miss the feel of your body against mine." Mario moves towards Marco again and this time Marco takes Mario in his arms, under his suit jacket. "I will miss the harmony we achieve on the pitch, the chemistry that can be felt even right now in this bathroom. I like sex, Marco, that's it. And sometimes when I look at you, that desire gets the better of me." Marco thinks of Leon, of poor Leon, and the feelings for him that he just doesn't share. The race of his heart that he feels right now in this moment with Mario. Poor Leon is the same as poor Marco, who is feeling way too much for this boy who wants his body, nothing more. And yet somehow what Mario is saying allows Marco to lose himself in the moment, to not worry so much about consequences that Mario is saying don't exist. And so he clutches Mario closer and kisses him soft but firm, the way he would have the other night, but with none of the hesitation. Mario winds his arms around Marco, running his hands under the hem of Marco's vest before moving around to grab his ass and pull his hips closer against his own. Mario kisses Marco back, harder, deeper, his chest heaving, his skin hot against Marco's. Skin that he wants to feel more of against him. Marco tugs on one of Mario's arms to remove his jacket and Mario releases his grip to let it slide down off his shoulders. Without looking Marco finds a hook on the door. Next he works on the buttons on Mario's vest. Mario on the other hand, is pushing Marco harder and harder against the wall, grinding his hips into Marco's, beginning to find some rhythm in the movement, friction.

With Mario's vest hanging open Marco flattens a palm against Mario's flat stomach. One he so badly wanted to see gleaming with sweat and the muscles moving against Marco's. But when he breaks off the kiss to suck lightly at Mario's neck, one hand reaching for the buttons on his dress shirt, Mario places a hand over Marco's to stop him.

"Fuck, Marco." He groans. "This is not a good idea." He has stopped moving his hips against Marco's but he is still leaning against him, and one hand absently rubs Marco's hip bone.

Marco would rather do anything than admit that Mario is right, and is considering suggesting he climb out the window afterwards to avoid suspicion before he realizes that the bathroom has no window. He leans his head against the wall and accepts defeat.

"You are very drunk my friend, this is not how it should happen." Mario continues. He kisses Marco once, tender but sloppy and desperate all at once. The kiss seems to say both hello and good bye. Finally Mario moves away from Marco, suddenly in a hurry, trying to smooth down the front of his pants. Marco also attempts to make adjustments and they both ignore the visible erections they are sporting. "Fuck, Marco." Mario says again. He leans one hand on either side of the sink and presses his forehead against the mirror.

Mario runs the tap and winces as he turns the water to the highest temperature and runs his hands through the steaming flow. He flicks water at Marco and then turns the water to very cold, making an involuntary noise as the water touches his skin which is still red from the scalding hot water seconds before. He flicks more water at Marco. He peers into Marco's eyes. "You awake, Reus?" With some effort, Marco focuses his eyes on Mario. There are three of him shaking slightly, a few inches from his face. When did he become so tired and dizzy? How did 2 more Mario's get into this bathroom without his knowledge? "Right, well, I'm sorry but you have to leave the bathroom first, I have some articles of clothing to reassemble." Mario removes his suit jacket from the hook on the door and peers out of the bathroom. "Out you go, give me a few minutes, I'll call you a cab."

With one shove Marco is in the hallway, suddenly very awake again. He glances around nervously. Mario was wrong, somebody would notice them leaving.

"Marco, you look, are you okay? Can I call you a cab?" It is Robert and he has an arm around Marco and is steering him towards the apartment door. Before Marco can say a word of goodbye or anything at all they are in the hallway and the patterns on the floor seem to be slithering and undulating between each other. He lets himself fall against the wall as Robert is bearing down on him.

"What the hell was that, Marco? You look like you just had sex in Großkreutz' hallway bathroom in the middle of a work party!"

"I didn't." He manages to say, but then he begins to laugh so Lewy probably doesn't believe him. He laughs because even though they had the sense to not do the thing, here he is being accused of doing the thing! In other words, why the hell didn't he do the thing!

"You are so drunk, I don't even know if I can trust you in a cab by yourself." Robert says, squinting at him as he holds his phone to his ear, waiting for the taxi service to pick up. He gives Kevin's address and signs off. "Who was in that bathroom Marco, did they take advantage of you in this state? Do I need to have words with someone? Honestly, Marco, this is serious and I am worried." Daddy Lewy to the rescue. With great concentration Marco managed to stand on his own and focus his eyes on Robert. He pulled air into his chest and counted to 3.

"Robert, nothing happened, I swear it. You don't have to worry about me. Now put me in a cab and get me home. I will be fine, I'm not actually that drunk." Robert didn't seem too convinced, but Marco continued to stand on his own two feet to further prove his semi-sobriety. "Will people wonder where I've gone?"

"Many people have left already Marco, I will tell the rest you have taken ill. Let us go down to the lobby."

A face-first dive into the back of a cab. Lying on his back, street lights whooshing past like shooting stars. Trying to pay for the ride that Robert had paid for before sending him off. Somehow he found his way to his own room. He collapsed face first onto his mattress, fully dressed, on top of the sheets, and didn't even move when his phone beeped in his pocket underneath him.

A message from Leon.

How was the party?


	8. Late to the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

He would have been on time to the party. Really, he would have. He had planned properly for the ridiculous amount of time he would spend on his hair, and was walking swiftly along the sidewalk towards Kevin's apartment only 20 minutes shy of the 19:00 start time Kevin had given.

But then he recognized someone who seemed to be pacing along the street not too far from the apartment entrance.

That guy that had picked up Marco from the match that one day. His boyfriend.

This was Mario's last chance to get Marco alone and do what he had been dying to since the day he'd finally admitted to himself that he had it bad for the jerk. He had spent a few days cursing himself for not taking the next step. He was convinced that regardless of the consequences he would make it okay. He just needed to bag Marco, whatever happened afterwards was negligible at this point.

He seriously considered continuing on, letting it sort itself out, he did not for even a second want to pretend to be pleasant to this man who had already ruined his night. He wasn't even wearing a 3 piece suit! Didn't Marco tell him of Klopp coming to the party? The nerve. And why doesn't he just call Marco to let him in.

He had walked a few paces past the man before finally forcing himself to be a good person.

"Hi, sorry, are you here to meet Marco? Marco Reus?" Because he needed to use a last name so he would remember who his boyfriend is. Good grief.

The man looked up at Mario with a look somewhere between surprise and fear, and then a flicker of recognition. What the fuck? 

"You're Mario Götze." He said. It wasn't a question. Yeah, gay guys tend to recognize his face, and it was for this exact reason that Mario hadn't picked up a man in ages.

"And you are Reus' boyfriend. I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Leon." The man replied, holding out a hand to shake Mario's own. His sleeve pulled back to reveal a nice expensive-looking watch, probably a gift, and his handshake seemed to convey strength and warmth and power all at once. He wouldn't mind getting under him.

"If you're trying to get upstairs, I know the door code, we can--" He began.

"Oh, no, actually. This is embarrassing, but, well." Leon paused and shuffled his feet a little in a boyish way which seemed to contradict his mature appearance. He was wearing a sweater vest for christ sake! And then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out for himself and offered the pack to Mario, who waved it away with a nod. He covered the cigarette from the wind as he lit up, inhaled once, held it, and exhaled before either of them spoke again.

"Did Marco really tell you I was his boyfriend?" Leon asked Mario. There was something whiny in his tone and Mario found himself imagining Marco forcing this man onto all fours, harshly entering him as Leon begged him to kiss him on the mouth. This guy has got it bad too.

"Er--I think so. Is that not what you are?"

"The way Marco has been acting recently, I would think not." Leon admitted. "Which is why you have found me here, creeping on the doorstep of the place Marco had said he would be, to ensure that he was going where he said he was going."

"Did you follow him here?" Leon looked away. This was beyond weird. The most frustrating part being that he felt sorry for the guy. 

"You're a really great footballer." Leon commented, ashing his cigarette on the ground. 

"So is your boyfriend." Mario countered. Leon nodded thoughtfully at this.

"It must be hard, being where he is, and being gay. Nobody bats an eyelash at a gay accountant. But a gay footballer..."

"Yes," Mario agreed. "He took a great risk to tell the team this about himself. We only love him the same for it." Echte liebe. And a bisexual one?

"I have great respect for Marco. I just wish that I was worthy of standing next to him. It sounds foolish, I know this, but sometimes the secrecy takes it's toll on me." He gestured towards Kevin's building, and Mario understood it to mean a backwards form of the paranoia he himself often entertained. Secrets and lies always get the best of people. "I'm not a young man, I'm 32. I've been in many relationships that were poisoned by another man. It feels to me that with my relationship with Marco, another man is taking him away from me."

"Football." Mario said simply.

"Sorry?"

"It's football. That's the other man. You must understand that for us, for Marco, football is always on our minds and in our hearts. It might not be easy for others, for loved ones, to understand." Mario was surprised at his own wisdom, but it was so simple because he felt it in his own heart to be true. "Marco speaks highly of you, I think that he cares about you very much." He continued evenly. Despite the big truth he had just delivered, he had lost count of the lies he had told to this poor man.

"Mario, thank you for your kind words. I would appreciate if you wouldn't tell Marco that you have seen me here." What's that Leon, tell Marco that you're stalking him? Well, gee, if you insist.

"Of course my friend." Mario stopped himself just short of bowing obnoxiously. He wanted to do a victory dance, he was literally just handed the ammunition to destroy one of the only things standing in the way of him and Marco.

And now he has lost count of the lies he has told himself.

"Good night, Mr. Götze."

Leon rubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his boot and walked out into the street to hail a cab. 

Mario hurried into Kevin's building but stopped himself in the stairwell to gather his thoughts.

What is the game plan here, walk in and snog him full on in front of everyone? Mario already felt light headed and his heart was beating around his chest like a caged bird. Was this really the right place and right time? Is this a fun risk or an absolutely insane one? Suicidal even? He started pacing back and forth, cursing himself a thousand times over for becoming the cliche boy worrying about how to seduce someone. Wing it, Götze, it's all you can do.

And that's all that there was for it. Walk in, see how he feels, and make a move or don't. In the end he would have to trust in the choices he made in the heat of the moment. 

Mario jogged up the stairs to Kevin's floor, straightening his suit and tie as he went, and nearly ran headlong in Jürgen.

"Boss, I'm so sorry, I--"

"Nevermind, nevermind Mario, I haven't got much time, shall we?" Jürgen was hurrying down the hallway, counting the numbers on the doors to get to Kevin's. When they arrived, Mario opened the door without knocking.

"After you, sir."

"Nonsense, Mario, in you go, come on now." With the boss just behind him, he could do nothing to empty his mind and take a deep breath before the night began, and he stepped over the threshold and into a large living room decked out in Christmas and scattered with his teammates. He could not have been more amused by the first thing he laid eyes on.


	9. Bed by Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

Marco red in the face from beer, wearing his best suit and playing guitar. He snapped a picture a moment too soon and missed Marco nearly passing out when his vision focused enough to see Mario and Jürgen standing there. The moment is too much. Mario strides off to the kitchen before Marco can react. He needs to find out how much Marco has drank, if he's inebriated enough to do something really stupid like say something obvious in front of others.

"So how many drinks has Reus had, eh." He says by way of greeting Kevin, Lewy, Mats, and Sebastian, who are chatting in the kitchen. Kevin attempts to thrust a beer into Mario's hand but he refuses. Kevin insists. He takes the beer and places it on the counter.

"I'll handle it." Kehl says responsibly, tossing a water bottle from one fist to the other as he heads towards the living room. Meanwhile Robert is frowning at Mario.

Mario is rooting through Kevin's cupboards, he finds what he is looking for as Kevin tries to gesture towards the various snacks all over the counter space.

"I'm late I need to do catch ups." Mario explains, uncapping a bottle of vodka and taking a swig he figures is roughly the equivalent of a shot. "Eurgh it's warm."

Kevin smoothly pops ice cubes into a tumbler and passes it along to Mario who pours the vodka for himself and takes two large gulps before offering the bottle to the other 3. Robert is still frowning at Mario.

"Lewy, you look like you need a drink." Mario says, jabbing the neck of the vodka bottle into Robert's chest. Before Robert can grab it, Mario flicks the lid off and pours himself another glass. "I mean you look like I need a drink. Who died?" Before he can put the cap back on Mats is pulling the bottle out of his hand.

"Pace yourself, golden boy." He chides lightly, putting the cap on and placing the bottle on top of the fridge, which is out of Mario's reach. "Jürgen is still here also, don't look so irresponsible." Mario drains the second glass of vodka and slaps the glass onto the counter with a bit too much force. He picks up the beer Kevin had been offering earlier but thinks better of it. 

"Of course, Hummels, you are right as usual."

Mario is feeling like he is roasted alive in his suit, that the humidity is frizzing his hair. He takes a piece of ice from the freezer and presses it to the inside of his wrist. He feels sick, if he's honest. This all feels very wrong to him, and it seems as though everyone is giving him strange looks, like they have figured out something about him that they find repelling. This is how he imagined it would feel to come out. He pulls nervously at his collar and empties his mind of all of these negative thoughts. Tossing the melting cube into the sink, he heads back to the living room, an attempt to retrace his steps and start the party on the right footing. He nearly runs headlong into Jürgen again. 

"Mario, we are both hurrying in opposite directions tonight." Jürgen wrings his hands together anxiously and then takes both of Mario's hands in his own. "Good to see you son, keep up the good work. And enjoy your holiday!" He pats Mario on the head and Mario tries not to cringe. Not the hair! Jürgen squeezes past him and Mario continues into the living room. A few guys have circled around Marco, he ignores his heart jumping in his chest and walks up behind them just as Lukasz is trying to make a joke.

"Yes Marco, and what does your girlfriend think of the shift of allegiance from Gladbach to Dortmund?"

For some reason this comment drops like a stone in Mario's stomach. He is thinking of Leon and of Carolin all at once. Of anyone who ever had Marco as their own. Even if it wasn't real. Blood rushes to his head, or maybe it is vodka. His chest feels hot and a fierce protective (read: jealous) venom drips in his veins. He so badly wants to claim Marco as his own and end all of this talk of anyone else ever existing outside of Marco and Mario.

"What's her name again, CarLeon wasn't it?" Mario tries to say casually and hopes that the snide tone comes off more playful than it is. Marco had been miles away from him, from the room. It seemed to have been taking him all of his concentration to remain conscious, but when Mario says the name he snaps to attention. He meets Mario's eyes and they understand each other in a look.

"What the fuck Mario!?" Marco throws the words at him like a punch. Mario was not expecting him to be so angry, he glances around nervously and all of the heat and wrongness he had been feeling in the kitchen rushes back to him. So Marco is drunk enough to say the wrong thing. Tread carefully Götze.

Lukasz sputters an apology as Mario's mind is racing, trying to find a way to get out of this horrible situation. The vodka is making him feel heavy. Before he can say or do anything though Marco makes excuses and stumbles out of the room.

"Do you think he will vomit?" Nuri asks the room and they all laugh and the conversation turns to something else. Mario tries to take the joke as lightly as the rest of them. Besides, it's probably true.

Mario realizes that he is the one inebriated enough to do stupid things like act out jealously in front of his team. For less than a second he lets his fear of the situation overcome him and he feels blood rushing in all directions, and he feels the alcohol buzzing through him, making his limbs feel like pins and needles. But Mario is not one of the greatest footballers of his generation for a case of bad nerves. The fear, the heat of the moment, the blood pumping, he lives for how he will handle all of this all at once. He decides to capitulate on his stupidness. Hoping that Marco is not throwing up as Nuri suggested, he tries to casually stride over to the hallway bathroom. For the last time Jürgen and Mario cross paths in the hallway. As Mario knocks on the bathroom door, Klopp slips out the front door.

It occurs to Mario only as he's closing the door behind him that it could have been anyone on the other side of the door. He got lucky once in finding Marco on the other side. Time to get lucky again.

It wasn't until he turned to face Marco that he realized this entire time he had been nervous to be alone with him. Marco, hair carelessly disheveled and plastered to his head from the discarded santa hat. Marco, who came out to his club because he wanted his team to know him as he is. No games, no lies, no carefully built up facade of sarcastic remarks and heterosexual adventures. Marco, slightly drunk and looking at Mario like there was nobody else he wanted to be caught alone in the hallway bathroom at Großkreutz' holiday party with. Marco, whose face was now paling in horror as he processed their current predicament through his hazy drunken mind.

Mario begins saying random things in an attempt to assuage Marco as he considers his own reflection in the mirror. He always found it strange the idea that someone could look in the mirror and see someone they did not recognize. For years Mario would see himself in the mirror and enjoy seeing what nobody else can, the person Mario is when nobody else is looking. But now he looks in the mirror and sees something not so familiar. His skin is flushed, and his eyes look almost wild, like he just played the World Cup game of his life. He looks like someone on the edge of getting everything they ever wanted. But Mario had never truly felt he was wanting for anything, so that he did not recognize this face.

He had to admit though, it was sexy. He'd love to be the boy on the receiving end of this look, with all of the power to give or withhold those most desired things. As he smoothed the hairs back into place that had been tousled by Klopp he tried to negotiate things in his mind back onto a plane he could navigate. He was drunk and extremely happy and horny and without much inhibitions and there was a very cute, slightly angry, also drunk boy beside him. The goal of the night, then, is to get what he wants. Which is to have sex with Marco. To get what he had been dying to have since it became a possibility. To blow his load inside Marco Reus so he could finally feel satisfied and move on with his life. The stage is set. Action.

Mario turns to Marco and slides one hand up his chest, pushing him to a seat on the counter stool and running a hand through his hair. Something he had been dying to do for ages. He's halfway between wanting to take his time and feel more parts of Marco that he had fantasized about and wanting to rip all of their clothes off as quickly as possible and start fucking. Marco's eyes are becoming heavy and he looks as though he is thoroughly enjoying Mario's hands on him, so with great control, Mario continues to take it slow.

"Now relax, will you? Please? I came to tell you that I will miss you while I am away. Maybe I am also a little drunk, but it is the truth." Where did that come from? Too much truth Mario, play it cool or you will burn. Marco is swaying slightly on the chair, and Mario thinks of more than a few ways to wake him up.

"I lied, I have not had a single drink. You on the other hand have had 4 or 5 or 6 too many my friend." A lie to put himself back on even ground. Not one of the ways he had in mind for waking Marco up, but it accidentally did the trick.

"How did you know Leon's name?" Suddenly Marco stands and they are occupying the same space, and he relishes all of the possibilities of how to share it, but when Marco makes no move to become more intimate, Mario retreats to lean against the door, one foot crossed casually over the other. He has made him angry again, somehow.

"He's handsome, that boy of yours. Tall and dark and older and such an honest man, an accountant, isn't he? The opposite of me in many respects. Do you love him?" He bit back the scathing tone in his voice. He realized as he said it that it was true he and Leon were practically opposites, and it was one of the things that was bothering him most. Carolin and Leon were both in so many ways everything that Mario was not. He could feel his mood sinking again, fought to keep his mind on the goal, envisions his mouth on Marco's. A deep kiss, tongue exploring, plucking Leon's name from his vocal chords replacing it with his own, hoarse in Marco's throat as he fails to suppress a moan. For an instant Mario considers telling Marco of Leon lurking around the front entrance, but it didn't seem like a good time, or any of his business really. Why should he try to hurt Marco's feelings in this moment, and what would he be trying to achieve?

"Why should you care, Mario? I heard you in the locker room about all of the, what was the phrase, bikini girls you'd bone in the Bahamas?" Mario has to laugh at his own idiocy. Sometimes he overplays the hetero role but nobody seems to notice. He's not even going to the Bahamas.

Judging by the redness of Marco's ears and the back of his neck, a tell tale sign of discomfort Mario had picked up on some time ago, this is not a conversation either of them are interested in having at this juncture. Or maybe ever.

"We are at it again, Reus. And so I will simplify things. I will miss the feel of your body against mine." All true, good truths. He walks towards Marco, wants him against the wall again, their bodies against each other and Marco gasping for air, tugging urgently at his clothing. His pulse races when Marco's hands wrap around his waist, too much fabric between them. "I will miss the harmony we achieve on the pitch, the chemistry that can be felt even right now in this bathroom. I like sex, Marco, that's it. And sometimes when I look that you, that desire gets the better of me." He wasn't expecting Marco to lead the kiss, which makes it all the better. The kiss is soft but firm, it feels somehow safe. Like nothing can touch them in that moment. His heart flutters in his chest but his cock also twitches in his pants. Instead of Marco it is Mario gasping for breath and he is desperate to take control of things before he gets carried away in this kiss that is too intimate. And so he places both of his hands on Marco's ass and pushes his hips against Marco's hips. Mario feels so hot that Marco's skin is almost cool to the touch. He wants to feel bare skin against his skin, and Marco has the same idea as he is pulling a bit roughly at one of the shoulders of Mario's suit jacket. He obliges and releases his grip on Marco's ass, dropping his shoulders so the jacket slides down his arms with Marco's help. Without looking Marco attempts to hang the jacket on the door but is either too drunk or too busy untucking Mario's vest to notice it falling to the floor. Mario pushes Marco against the wall before they both lose their balance. When Marco's hands find the bare skin of Mario's torso, Mario finds a sweet spot where he can feel Marco's dick against his own through their pants. He wants it so badly he knows that he could make them both come, finding a rhythm and maybe with the help of his hand. He's sure if he doesn't rip both of their clothes off soon and take it to the next step that he is going to explode. He can feel white hot pleasure beginning at the base of his cock. Marco has pulled open his vest and is running his hands across Mario's abs, breaking off the kiss to suck on Mario's neck. This is almost too much for Mario.

And suddenly the moment is upon them. Mario feels like a horny teenager ready to blow his load at the slightest encouragement from Marco's body, and he knows that if they go any farther things might not be the same afterwards. He feels like experiencing an orgasm together is not something as easy to come back from as a few heavy make out sessions. With an enormous amount of self control Mario stops Marco's hand from unbuttoning his dress shirt. For a moment he considers saying fuck it all, the button of Marco's pants just inches away from his right hand. He desperately wants to stroke Marco through his pants, or maybe unbutton it to reach bare skin. All of his weight is still resting against Marco, but Marco leans his head against the wall either in exhaustion or in an acknowledgement that they should not continue. For a moment Mario is so overwhelmed by the presence of Marco that he kisses him again, softer than he intended, but also a supercharged kiss, him imagining them just stroking each other until they come. He would give anything to feel his lips against Marco's as he gasps in his mouth and spurts in his hand. That would not be so much farther, would it? It would be so easy. He already feels so close.

But Marco is drunk, and Mario is drunk. And despite everything he has convinced himself of so far, he is not able to convince himself that this is how it should happen. "Fuck, Marco." He says, as if it is Marco's fault. And it is. It's his fault that he has made Mario care enough about him to want to take less risks and make things more meaningful. "Fuck, Marco." He says again, to himself. What have you done to me?

His body has not yet accepted his decision to turn down sex, he feels a dull ache in his balls and his penis is practically throbbing, begging to be touched. He tries to make his pants less uncomfortable but hastily decides to keep his hands away. He rests his forehead against the mirror to cool himself down a little, and uses alternating extreme temperatures of water to try to distract his body from the part that is still throbbing and will probably ache slightly but enough to be uncomfortable for several hours. He tries to help Marco, who it would appear is having the same problem. Marco is looking very drowsy and more than a little green at the gills, and Mario feels only a little guilty for letting his eyes linger a little too long on the tenting of Marco's pants. He hadn't thought the end part through very well. How will they enter the hallway in these dress pants that hide absolutely nothing. Even if they had gotten release, it still would have taken time before his body was completely back to normal. He flicks more water at Marco and tries to smooth his vest down some. This will have to do. They have already been gone for quite some time and there should be at least a 5 or 10 minute gap between exits. 

He pokes his head into the hallway and sees someone bent over, their face in the fridge. As quick as he can, he shoves Marco into the hallway with an apology, hoping he finds his senses quickly. 

As Mario straightens himself out, he tries to let his body calm down but he is already worrying about the things that he will feel later. More regret that he can't finish things with Marco. More disappointment in his own vulnerability and allowing himself to take it this far. Once again he looks in the mirror and sees someone who he cannot quite reconcile as himself. Something akin to shame burning in his cheeks, furrowing his brows. He fixes his hair again and slowly, methodically washes his hands, and deposits these thoughts in the back of his mind to be picked up and turned over again later when he is trying to sleep. As he is about to leave the bathroom he notices the santa hat Marco had been wearing all night, resting on the towel rack next to the door. He scoops it up in his hand as he exits the bathroom and tosses it in the air as he walks down the hallway, trying to look casual and calm. Suddenly a hand yanks him by the collar of his shirt and half drags, half carries him out into the hallway outside of Kevin's apartment. He tries to catch the santa hat and maintain his balance under the force of the larger, stronger man but misses and it falls to the floor. The apartment door slams and Robert Lewandowski shoves him roughly against the wall and considers him, a dangerous look flashing in his eyes. 

"It was you." He says, shock creeping into his face. Mario's heart goes cold. Whatever gears are turning in Robert's head right now, he would give everything in the world for them not to come to the correct conclusion. He doesn't respond, and concentrates on wiping any emotion from his face. Anything else would look forced. "It was you in the bathroom with Marco." Robert accuses. Think fast, Götze.

"Yes..." He begins, not knowing where to go next. "I was in the bathroom with Reus, poor guy."

"Poor guy? Mario, are you drunk? What were you thinking? What have you done?" 

"What I was thinking, Robert, is that somebody needs to make him drink water and make sure he didn't drown in a pool of his own vomit." He pushed lightly against Robert's arms to make him release his grip, and when he does, Mario knows he has delivered the lines convincingly.

"Marco was sick?" Robert says slowly, gears turning once again. 

"Yes, have you see him? I meant to look after him, only he went charging out of the washroom and I thought he had gotten some sick on my brand new suit." He explained sheepishly, as if feeling selfish for staying to look after his suit over a mate.

"I...I put him in a cab home." Robert said, frowning at Mario again.

"Oh, I see," Mario started feeling in his pockets for his phone. "For the best I suppose, I only hope he'll make it home alright. Did he seem better to you?" Mario was now flipping absently through his messages, which consisted of a bunch of FIFA 13 live texting from his brother and one from his mum asking when he'd be coming to the house. 

"He seemed well enough."

"Well good, have many people left?" Mario was already dialing for a cab, he wouldn't stomach lying his way through the rest of the night when all he could think of was Marco, and with Robert still looking at him suspiciously.

"Er yes, it's only Julian, Sebastian, Sven, Kevin of course and I think a few others. Mario I--" 

"You want to watch what you accuse people of Robert. We are all on the same team here. I love Marco as a brother, and to imply anything else..."

"I'm sorry Mario, you are absolutely right. I just feel so protective of Marco, I would feel the same of any of you. He worries me sometimes, I don't know why. He has been speaking to me recently of someone on the team who he may have feelings for and who may have feelings for him. I thought--Mario, are you--?" 

So Marco had been speaking to Lewy. "Gay? Of course not. How often am I bragging of the women I take home? And far be it for me to be interested in a man who is too busy bonding with the toilet bowl. Lewy, as glad as I am that you have Marco's best interests in mind, I only have the same. Now, I think the party is over for me, will you tell the others I said good night?"

"Certainly. You will be okay to go home on your own? You were really knocking back the vodka earlier, and you are so small, with such little muscle mass." Robert poked him playfully in the stomach. 

"I think I will be fine. Good night, my friend." Mario says as he is already walking away. Instead of taking the elevator he practically runs down the few flights of stairs. He throws open the lobby doors and feels the soothing cold of the night on his face. He feels sober for the first time in hours. He had not enjoyed lying in such an outright way to Robert, even if it wasn't exactly a lie. He knew that Robert really only had everyone's best interests in mind. He would worry about how it would affect the team if anything ever happened with this mysterious player, to the same degree that Marco and Mario worried about the same thing. He would have to be more careful from now on. He looked at his watch as the cab pulled up to the curb. It was only quarter after 10. The night had seemed so long, but despite all that it happened it seemed that Mario would home and in bed by 11.

He spent the cab ride home brooding over all of the stupid mistakes he had made. How had he let himself get so carried away with his desire?

Despite his overwhelming feelings of regret he still lay in bed less than an hour later, his mind running over the most alluring parts of the evening, his penis hardening easily in his hand. He stroked himself to the memory of Marco's eyes hungry for him and the feel of Marco's lips at his throat. A few strokes and he came and it was not so satisfying as it would have been with Marco. He lay on his back for a while, and as he let himself sink into his bed, he told himself that for 2 weeks he would not concern himself at all with Marco Reus.

Oh, how he loves the sun.


	10. Two Drunk Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert's perspective.

In the youth of his career Robert would have greatly enjoyed the opportunity to socialize with his team and have a bit of fun. But he had left his youth in Poland and although Robert is not what anyone would call old, he would have preferred to spend a quiet night in with Anna. 

For his Polish friends did not have his heart the way some of his German friends on the team pulled at his neck tie and made him worry far too much.

Anna was sympathetic of Robert's disposition, and blue eyes gazed lovingly into blue as she dropped him off outside of Kevin's apartment.

A peck on the cheek, a quick moment with collar upturned against the cold, a short ride up an elevator, and a few strides to plant himself in Kevin's kitchen. A bottle of water and adult conversation with Mats and Sebastian.

He would ignore the subject of his adoration, Marco Reus, who would no doubt be drunk and affectionate. Red was the colour of the santa hat perched on his head and the tinge in his cheeks. Red was the colour Robert knew his face would turn if Marco put his hands on him. 

He loved that mind intensely which only meant that he would protect this boy at all costs. A younger brother, nothing physical whatsoever. Yellow was the colour of the tips of Marco's hair, of the love they shared (Echte liebe), and of the torch Robert would carry for the rest of his life.

And Anna thought Marco Reus was just adorable.

A small commotion in the form of Mario Götze appeared in the kitchen, putting an end to the dull quietude they had all settled into. This small tornado of a boy swaps places with Sebastian and begins to tear the place apart.

Mario knocks back shot after shot of vodka, his face puckering at the taste. There is something in his demeanour that Robert is having trouble trying to place. Mario glows like the sun he loves so dearly but tonight he seems to be on fire.

Robert was always quick to tire of Mario's pretenses and no less tonight when Mario is radiating with an eagerness to prove that he is everything Robert knows he is not. The boy tries to provoke Robert but Mats intervenes before he will take it too far. Robert is dormant, curious as to why Mario makes less sense to him tonight than usual.

He loves Mario too, the way a calm and stable sea might find a thunder storm endearing. Technically skilled young football player, overflowing with potential and a thirst to achieve and challenge himself. A creative mind, off the pitch too often preoccupied by the web he spins around himself. Yellow is the colour of our golden boy who flies too close to the sun.

All at once the energy that was frenetically buzzing through the two rooms is sucked out of it to be replaced with muffled conversations, the tinkling of polite laughter and the hum of less polite conversation.

Robert is poised, prepared to react as soon as a situation presents itself. He has triangulated the source of the energy surge to find it disappeared through the door in the hallway. A door he saw Marco disappear behind. 

As patient as a predator lulling it's prey into a false sense of safety, Robert stalks through the party, making rounds but keeping one eye on the bathroom door. Finally Marco emerges, the door closes behind him. Less the santa hat, red is still the colour of Marco, a deep blooming red in otherwise colourless cheeks, in stark contrast with ice blue eyes. 

Robert intercepts, pulling his prey to the safety of the hallway outside Kevin's apartment.

Marco is giddy and drunk on excitement. Robert can feel that in the short absence his boy has been pulled apart, stuffed back together, and discarded haphazardly. Red is the colour of Robert's anger as it dawns on him that someone has done something very wrong.

But no, he is mistaken. If anything, Marco seems more together. Like someone has made him more than he was only hours before.

Robert has often felt more than he was and rarely was it ever a bad thing. But nothing is ever all good.

Whatever has lit Marco up from the inside is not something Robert can or is willing to coax out, and a part of him knows he shouldn't want to. But what he tastes in the air and feels emanating from Marco just under the surface is the beginnings of a precarious if not dangerous situation. The primary victim of any damage would be Marco, but Robert can see this is repercussion Marco has already eagerly taken on. 

Robert soothes himself with the notion that Marco will always have Robert to protect him. He sends Marco home in a cab and out of direct exposure of the noise of Marco's mind, Robert is more at ease. Without that influence, the calamity of the situation drops to a manageable level.

Being so susceptible to the moods and emotions of others has always been a point of difficulty for Robert, but he has spent his whole life finding ways to manage it. He can, for the most part, comfortably love Marco from afar without causing himself too much stress.

And yet when he re-enters Kevin's apartment to find Mario carrying the hat Marco had been wearing earlier, red is the colour of everything in Robert's vision as he comes to a complete understanding of the situation and how foolish two drunk boys can be.

Mario's earlier goal of inciting Robert to anger is achieved as Robert pounces and drags the smaller predator into the hallway, this time with the intention of devouring his prey.

But then he finally understands the pretenses, why Mario was difficult to understand earlier, and why he burns up like the sun.

Robert feels that if he could place a hand over Mario's heart, beneath his open palm would be a steady beat and such heat as if his core were a sun. He also has the distinct feeling that like Mario himself, his core has a thick outer shell. Dark and light coalesce, and the outcome is something with many beautiful properties but with an ability to burn irreparably.

Robert sends Mario on his way, but with the grave concern that he is about to witness a trainwreck, imminent, inevitable, and all he can do is see it onto a cab home, safe for one more night.

And like a trainwreck, it is so beautiful in it's destruction.

Robert leaves shortly after Mario, picked up exactly where Anna had left him. At home they shed their clothes and shower together, and Robert feels much more himself alone with Anna than anywhere else. In bed later, he realizes that above all he is not a player in what he had witnessed tonight but a spectator, one who cannot interfere more than necessary at the risk of altering that which is meant to occur.

Robert tries to shake his mind of the unspecified anticipation of the coming months, of wanting to grab the situation by the seam and run, unraveling it and finding ways to put it back together again. 

When he finally falls asleep it is in Anna's arms, after warm, sleepy kisses, himself inside of her and a togetherness so deep in moments they are almost one, comforted by her warm body against his and the conviction that whatever happens next, not one of the people involved would change it for all the world.


	11. The Gift of Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective. The title is probably misleading, I'm sorry.

The next afternoon Robert paid a severely hungover Marco a visit at home.

Marco had spent the afternoon with a frozen bag of peas over his face, watching Game of Thrones repeats between naps. 

He brought a small gift for him, a box wrapped in glossy black paper and Dortmund yellow ribbon spilling across the top in neat curls.

"Anna wrapped it," he explained.

Inside he finds gold cufflinks, a shadow box frame, and a red santa hat.

"The frame is for the Dortmund pins we all got during those video shoots a while back, the Christmas one you did with Mario? The santa hat to refresh your memory of the previous evening. And the links of course are for your cuffs."

Marco tried to throw the hat as hard as he could at Robert's face but Robert plucked it out of the air with ease and in the same motion sent it sailing over Marco's head to land on his television.

"You could use some Christmas decoration in this place."

"I'm not Christian."

"In that case I will forgive you for not getting me a gift."

"Oh but I did." He had anticipated Anna pushing Robert to buy gifts for some of his friends at the club, in fact he had chatted her up in order to fish for information. His gift was a tasteful round bowl for their living room table. Anna had mentioned that together she and Robert had painted some eggs for Christmas, but didn't have any good place to put them.

"For your, er, eggs." Marco said awkwardly. 

"Anna will love it, thank you so much Marco. Though I am sure you don't want to think about food just now in your state."

"Yes, my head is throbbing but the rest of me is in working order, fortunately." 

"I guess there is a benefit to being sick during the night to avoid sickness in the day. I think you should take it easy on the beer Marco. You are German but it seems you cannot drink like a German."

"I don't know what you're talking about, a hangover is unavoidable at times." 

"Mario mentioned that you were in the bathroom taken ill..." Why is Robert giving him this look? And couldn't Mario have sent a text to warn him that he had lied? 

"Mario is mistaken," He said angrily. "I felt ill but nothing came up. He splashed water all over and kicked me out of the bathroom, which was when you found me."

"That does sound like Mario." Robert said after a beat and they both laughed.

They chatted a bit about holiday plans (of which neither of them had much) and Robert left before Marco felt obligated to serve him food and drink. Only then did he realize it was Christmas Eve. 

It is already 4pm and Marco doesn't feel in any state to start getting ready for the dinner reservations he has with Leon. He calls him up and explains that he is too sick to go out, but not too sick to stay in. Leon agrees to bring a take away to Marco's flat around 7. 

His next shocking revelation was that he had forgotten to get Leon a gift. After some trepidation he finds a box he can reuse and puts the cuff links Robert had given him inside and hand writes a note. He showers and puts on a black cashmere v-neck sweater and white chinos, runs a palmful of mousse through his hair once just as Leon is opening the door. He has brought Marco a bouquet of flowers and is balancing them on top of a bag of their favourite Indian food.

"Why would you bring flowers?" Marco demands, making no move to help relieve Leon of all of the things he is carrying as he edges the door shut with his toe.

"Sorry?"

"Anyone could have seen you. Bring flowers. To my flat. How do you think that looks?" 

"They're poinsettias, Marco, not roses. Christmas flowers. People put them in their house, it is not immediately seen as a romantic gesture."

"You shouldn't do things like that. You're putting my career, my life at risk when you take risks like that."

"Well hello to you too."

He wasn't that bothered by the flowers. He was bothered by Leon in general. But mostly he felt guilty for the previous night, and for the fact that the only time Leon had entered his thoughts was to acknowledge that he didn't love him. And now he felt even more guilty for the fact that he didn't get Leon a present, as Leon was crossing the room with a small box on his palm.

"Since we are not a conventional couple, I thought it would be okay to give you an unconventional gift. I hope you don't take it to mean something it doesn't mean."

Inside the box is a thick black titanium band. Not an engagement band, Marco tells himself. But still means more than he wants it to. More commitment than he is willing to make.

For the second time in as many days, Marco feels tears spring to his eyes. Leon takes it to mean that Marco is thrilled with the gift, he slides the ring onto his finger. Marco doesn't have the heart or courage to stop him. 

He gives Leon the cufflinks and Leon makes a show of exclaiming how perfect they are for him and Marco is unsure whether he means it or whether he merely wants it to be true. After they finish the Indian food, Marco feels them sliding into their normal routine, a bit of television, pleasant sex, then bed. He decides he needs to intercede before it turns into another night in a relationship he doesn't have his heart in.

"Leon, I think we need to talk." Marco begins.

"It's okay Marco, I know what you're going to say, and it's okay."

"How can you possibly know what I'm going to say, I don't even know what I'm going to say."

"Please, let me speak first and maybe things will make more sense. I have gotten the feeling recently that maybe you had started seeing someone else, I felt distanced from you and like you were giving someone else all of your time and adoration. In the past few weeks things haven't been as they were before." 

Oh, shit. All Marco can do is nod for him to continue. He wasn't joking that he had no idea what he was going to say. The sad old routine of breaking up with someone but not wanting to give them the real reason.

"Well yesterday I followed you to the party, because I thought maybe you were going to see another man."

_Oh, shit._

"That is a huge violation of my privacy, Leon, I don't even know how to respond to that. I can't believe you would do something like that."

"And I am truly sorry for it, Marco. One of the lowest things I have ever done, it is so unlike me. I merely passed by the building, and then I realized how utterly foolish I was being. But then just as I was turning to leave I ran into Mario Götze on the street."

Oh shit.

"And he spoke to me at length of what it feels to be a footballer, to have football in your veins, pumping straight to your heart. That sometimes your love of the sport overshadows love of anything else. I don't know that I'd ever have understood it without hearing it for myself. And it makes so much sense to me, Marco." He took Marco's hands in his own, worrying a thumb over the smooth, shiny surface of the ring. Marco, who seconds before had started choking on his words and was on the verge of spluttering the first excuse that won the battle to escape (while his mind was one big exclamation and question mark for Mario), tried not to audibly sigh with relief. It was a measure of how unpredictable Mario could sometimes be that he had absolutely no idea what he might have said to Leon. His unpredictability was invaluable on the pitch but it was certainly causing Marco considerable stress off the pitch these days.

And now, to be honest or to take the exit that has presented itself?

"Maybe that is true, to some degree. But Mario can only speak from his own heart, not from mine. The truth is Leon, it is not just football that has made things feel differently. I wish I could say that it was. And I hate to be having this conversation now, at the beginning of the holidays, but it seems there is no other time for it. You have gotten me this beautiful gift and I am giving you horrible news." Marco's voice breaks on the last sentence. He hates to feel like such a horrible person, to be hurting the man in front of him, who gave him the first real, stable relationship he ever had. And he feels even worse that he is allowing himself to be upset by the situation, when the emotion should be all Leon's. He realizes that he wants almost nothing more than to be able to love this man. How easy life would be (or as close as he can get). 

Leon is still holding both of Marco's hands, and he is looking at him kindly, listening raptly, and looks to be considering putting a comforting arm around Marco. Marco thinks of the age-old line, I don't deserve you.

"Leon, I'm so sorry. I don't think I feel the same about you as you do about me. I don't know what else to say about it, or what other reason to give."

"You don't need to give any other reason, Marco, if you don't you don't, and there's nothing either of us can do about it. I do have one question though."

"What is it?"

"Does this mean we can't have sex tonight?"


	12. One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective.

Leon had convinced him that pausing their serious conversation to have break-up sex was productive and Marco had to admit it was the best sex he ever had.

There was something about knowing it was the last time you would see someone naked and wanting to make it memorable. 

"Would that be appropriate?" Marco had asked at first, not sure if Leon was understanding what was going on.

"Marco, you not loving me back does not make me less attracted to you. If we have only one more night together, I think we should satisfy this one thing at least." He shifted his body so that he was closer to Marco on the couch, but Marco made no move.

"Leon...I don't mean to go back on what I have said, and I don't think that sex will make me feel differently..." 

"Do you like it when we have sex?" 

"I--Of course I do, I just don't think--" 

"Marco," to stop Marco from continuing Leon puts one finger over Marco's lips, his other arm wrapping around Marco's waist, but without exerting any energy towards pulling him closer. "I just want you to fuck me one last time. Will you let me have this one thing?"

Marco leaned toward Leon and kissed him, testing the waters, did this feel like the right thing to do? His body was certainly saying yes.

Leon shifted a little to get under Marco and feeling his body against him, under him, was enough for any hesitation Marco had been entertaining to dissipate. He was eager to feel Leon one last time, to selfishly have his way with him. He wrapped one hand under Leon's neck and kissed him harder, adjusting himself over Leon so that his hips were against Leon's hips. Trying to kiss him, rip his shirt off, and press himself harder against Leon at the same time results in them tumbling to the floor. Leon lands on top of Marco and only has time to finish removing his shirt before Marco shifts his weight, fingertips digging into Leon's hips as he forces Leon onto his back to straddle him.

Once Marco's shirt is also off, Leon's hands are all over his chest and he is feeling every bit of Marco, running his hands roughly along his stomach and rib cage. Marco does the same, feeling Leon's smooth skin, teasing his nipple between his fingers, then with his tongue, kissing along his upper body. As Marco kisses along Leon's torso, Leon leans back and gives Marco free reign. Marco strokes Leon through his pants with one hand while his other hand pushes firmly at the small of Leon's back, edging him closer. When Leon's hands find Marco's hair, Marco pulls at the waistband of Leon's briefs, and they both strip the last of their clothing. With Leon still on his back Marco leaves wet, sucking kisses along Leon's shaft before taking just the tip of him into his mouth. Leon's breath catches as Marco takes all of him into his mouth, back into his throat, and Leon's grip on his hair tightens. Then Leon is moaning and pushing Marco's head, encouraging Marco to go deeper, pressing his dick against the back of Marco's throat. Then suddenly Leon is tugging Marco's head up.

"Jesus, Marco, I said I wanted you to fuck me not suck me." Leon says hoarsely.

"But I was having fun." Marco replied. Leon's hand finds Marco's cock and strokes him a few times. Suddenly they are both urgent to get to what happens next.

Marco gives Leon one more kiss, deep and probing, pressing their naked bodies against each other, cupping both hands around Leon's ass, making him arch his body towards him. And then he tells him to turn over.

*****

Afterwards they lay on the floor for a while. Marco pulls a blanket off the sofa and wraps it around their waists as they lay on their sides facing each other. Lazy and sated, Leon runs his fingertips along Marco's tattooed arm as Marco traces patterns in the carpet.

"I wish our sex was like that every time." Leon says. "I mean fuck, Marco, you were great. I'd say dump me more often if it means you will fuck me like that." Marco's cheeks redden a little and he doesn't lift his eyes from the carpet. His heart is still racing from the sex.

Mostly, he agrees. If they could have this no-strings, no-feelings involved sex all of the time, he could stay with Leon for a very long time. How he so enjoyed taking him exactly the way he wanted, claiming every inch of Leon's body as his own. Marking him with red lines across his skin as he held Leon tight and brought him closer and closer to the edge...But they can't, and Marco takes the ring off his finger and places it on the carpet between them.

"Leon, I hope you realize that was the last time..." Marco says slowly.

"There are worse ways to go out my friend." Leon says cheerily, and something in his tone makes Marco finally look up to meet Leon's eyes. Leon makes no move to take the ring. "And I am also very glad that we have been able to be so very honest with each other. It is a small comfort to know that you trust me enough for that."

"How do you mean?" Marco is not sure he gave quite the truth Leon was implying.

"Just that in your position, breaking up with someone can be very dangerous. If you were dating a more prideful man than me, he might be inclined to make your life difficult for rejecting them...but don't worry, I am not that man."

Marco suddenly feels cold, this thought had never even occurred to him. How naive has he been?

"That is quite a thing to say, Leon."

"I care about you Marco, I hope you will keep these words for your future relationships, I know that you have never realized the power you give someone just by being with them. As I said, I assure you that I am not that man, and maybe that is why you chose me on some level, but other men might not see things the same way."

"Hmm, why does it feel as though you are threatening me." Marco says, arching an eyebrow at Leon and withdrawing his arm from Leon's grasp.

"Of course I am not threatening you, I would never do that." Leon says, and Marco can feel it is true, and that maybe the comfort he has always felt with Leon is why he let it go so far. If he could just love this man, he knows that it would be the best thing for him. That they could belong to each other, and they'd live a quiet life of simple domesticity and hardly ever concern themselves with the private becoming the public. It makes Marco a little heart sick to realize that he can trust this man with his life, and wonders what is wrong with him to be more preoccupied with, to give all of this up in the pursuit of the one thing he will never have.

Or do you not think so far ahead?

"Either way, I would just pay you off." Marco tells him, he shifts his body to close the space between them, running his fingers along Leon's back, massaging his shoulders a bit.

"I don't need your money." Leon says, as Marco lets his hand drift lower, he finds Leon's flaccid cock and rubs his thumb along the soft underside, feeling it harden in his hand. Leon's hand finds Marco and they are both stroking each other, their breathing speeding up.

"Then you underestimate how much money I make." Marco smirks at himself, he feels invincible in this moment. He could share a thousand carefree nights like this with Leon, being with him feels so easy and natural to him. But that's all it would ever be, easy words and easier sex. He knew at some point he'd need something more, the one desire that Leon does not hold for him.

"I know what you're worth." Leon says, and he kisses Marco lightly, brushing his lips across Marco's jawline and tightening his grip around Marco's cock, making him gasp a little and then kissing him harder this time. "Besides, I can think of a better way to buy my silence." Leon says, and draws Marco's mouth to his again. 

Yeah, break-up sex is not the worst idea in the world.

*****

Later that night, Leon falls asleep in Marco's arms and Marco is worrying again. Worried that Leon is still getting the wrong idea and worrying over what Leon has said to him. He eases his arm out from under Leon and moves to his side of the bed. He makes a mental note not to dive so quickly into any sort of relationship ever again, but falls asleep to the thought that there is one boy in his life who would be less willing to make Marco's identity public than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I opted to gloss over the actual sex because it didn't feel right to have the first graphic sex scene not be between Marco and Mario...


	13. Grumpy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

An entire day of FIFA with Felix (and far too much of that day spent losing for Mario's liking) and it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. 

He woke up far too late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve with a banging head ache and a bad taste in his mouth. The only upshot being that he could smell Marco on his skin again. He was beginning to like the habit of carrying Marco around with him in that way. It almost would have been worth it not to shower. 

But alas, a shower was had, and it involved a desperate, bitter wank, coming in spurts across the glass of the shower door in preparation for a week long family vacation. It had been record time since he had last blown his load inside of someone, and two heavy petting sessions between that was getting to be a bit much for him. After the shower, he still felt a dull ache in his groin for some actual fucking friction. He sincerely hoped that the next time he had sex came very soon and that it was damn good to make up for the delay.

He tried not to think about how the heavy, white-hot sensation in his balls had never really left since Marco laid hands on him, and how much he hoped that the sex would be with him. Especially considering seeing Marco again was not soon enough.

But frustration sexual or otherwise doesn't suit Mario Götze (or maybe it does), so he packed a bag, donned his most comfortable clothes and set off on the five and a half hour drive to the family home in Memmingen. From there the family would travel to Frankfurt to fly to Dubai.

A whole lot of food he wouldn't normally eat, a lot of fawning over from his mother and teasing from his older brother later and he emerged on the other side of Christmas with a whole different kind of frustration than when he had left Dortmund the day before. His little brother was far too good at FIFA for his liking. One more game and one more game and one more game later and Felix had still won more games than Mario.

"Take your stupid fucking hat back then, it was a shitty gift." Mario says irritably, chucking the hat way too hard so that the beak strikes Felix on the brow. He really does not like to lose.

"Okay well the hat was my Christmas gift to you and I didn't bet you for it, that was all you." Felix says, rubbing the reddening mark on his forehead where the hat had made contact, his tone coloured with hurt. Mario immediately regrets the outburst.

"I'm only joking, I like it a lot, see?" Felix flicks the hat back at Mario, who catches it and smoothly perches it on his head. It was a black Nike hat, he probably already had 3 almost the same, but this year Felix had saved up to buy everyone gifts himself and Mario realizes he could try to act a bit more grateful. "Showing it off to the ladies," he tells Felix, snapping a picture of himself in the hat. He reckons he looks pretty great so he sends the picture to Marco, to break the ice from the radio silence they've maintained since that night at Kevin's.

Happy Christmas. Enjoy your time off with Leon.

That probably sounded way too bitter but it was all Mario was thinking about and he realizes he hadn't asked Marco about any actual holiday plans that he could follow up with. 10 minutes of neurotically checking his phone later and he finally accepts that he doesn't really expect Marco to respond to that, especially considering how angry he had gotten when Mario knew Leon's name. Mario plugs his phone in to charge overnight and focuses all of his concentration on finally getting the jump on Fe (one more game!) to avoid more useless deconstructing of the relationship of Leon and Marco.

He didn't think it bore thinking about, especially when every conclusion he came to was not to his liking in the slightest.

And then Felix and Mario were being shooed to bed in order to wake up to catch the flight. A mere 3 hours later and Mario nearly forgot his phone on the desk in the office as they were all rushing out the door. He slept the entire ride to the airport and it wasn't until they were standing in line at customs that Mario realized he had a message from Marco.

Actually, we broke up.

This message had come only a few minutes after Mario put his phone away. And then, a few hours later:

Nice hat, and no I don't want to talk about it. Have a good trip...

Well now he looks like a huge asshole not comforting his friend and holy shit Marco Reus is single? He wants to jump for joy in the middle of a very grumpy post-holiday line at the airport but stops himself short with the reminder once again that Leon was never even the thing that stood in the way of Mario and Marco.

The fact that Mario has been known to be absolutely and utterly consumed by jealousy in the smallest of situations was seriously clouding his vision with regards to this. He knew it, and yet he couldn't help but think that Leon out of the picture was very good for him. 

But it wasn't until the next day that he finally started to accept why.


	14. Blind Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

It was André's idea to send flowers.

Of course, he had no idea he was advising Mario send flowers to _Marco_.

"Somebody is making Mario Götze very happy these days." Was one of the first things Schürrle said to him when they met up in Dubai. Mario looking completely at home in brightly coloured swim trunks and a white sleeveless shirt that would help him tan the best, while André looked just a little bit out of his element. 

"Seriously André, who wears all black in 30 degree weather?" Mario cajoled. But André was not to be distracted.

"Seriously Mario, who's the lucky girl?" André rebutted as they fell into step beside each other, along a boardwalk leading from their hotel towards the waterfront. The sun was beating down on them, Mario's hat shielding his eyes from the unrelenting bright blue and yellow of the sky overhead while André suffered a hand constantly over his brow. 

Mario's first instinct was to lie. Well, lie or deny. Or a mix of the two. He considered telling André that he just really needed to get laid (not exactly a lie) and insist there was nobody special but suddenly he was spilling his guts to one of his closest friends, strangely for one of the first times that he can remember. And Marco thinks _he's_ a private guy.

"I think I've fucked up and ruined everything before it even started." He confessed in one long breath. Suddenly the heat was too much for Mario, his shirt sticking to his skin, his black hat attracting the sun and burning a hole in his scalp. Talking about feelings is probably one of the few things Mario Götze is not good at.

"With your track record, why am I not surprised." André replies slyly, and Mario shoves him off the boardwalk, causing André to leap over the low rail, planting his feet in the sand as he jerks forward, almost falling to his knees. Mario doesn't even help him back up onto the boardwalk planks.

"I was only joking, sort of, relax!" André shouts, throwing up his arms as Mario makes towards him again. "Relax. Are you calm?" Mario is still eyeing André in a predatory way, as if considering what should befall him next. "Do you...love this girl?" At the word love André had walked quickly backwards in anticipation of Mario lashing out. The exact distance bringing him just out of arm's reach of Mario is a measure of their friendship. The fact that André, without ever having had this conversation before, instinctively knows how hard it is for Mario, is a measure of how great André is at reading people, especially Mario. "Mar, do we need to throw back a few daiquiris to get you to talk to me, or can we have this conversation mano a mano?"

"You know, mano a mano is a common misconception, it actually means hand to hand not man to man so no, we cannot --"

"You know what I mean you pretentious pig." André says, this time bracing himself against a retaliation from Mario. But Mario knows better than to attack André when he is on the defense, and so he bides his time, running his hip along the far rail of the boardwalk, staring out over the water. "Is she Spanish!?" André asks, perking up at the idea that he had made a deduction. This perky, bright blue-eyed puppy dog of a man is as blue and yellow and unrelenting as the sky.

"No, German." Mario says slowly. Is this it. Is he really having this conversation?

"Well Mario, it's your lucky day, I just so happen to be a resident expert on German girls."

For one short second Mario tastes the word bisexual on his tongue, imagines finding a gazebo out on the beach and the daiquiris André had mentioned and hashing it out. Mario had never had an honest conversation about it, and in this moment he imagined how free he would feel to have his friend know what he is. Who is he is.

The fact that this had never been something he desired before was a direct correlation with the arrival of Marco in his life. This pissed Mario off just a little bit. He waved the thoughts from his mind as he swiped his hat off his head and fanned himself. Not happening. Not today, possibly not ever. He wonders how people never seem to notice the moments when he lets his guard down.

He's just too fast for them.

"Until recently they--she was seeing someone. But I've only just found out that they've finished." Mario begins, not looking forward to fielding the flurry of questions André will soon be flinging in his direction.

"So...that's good news, no?"

"It's just that the first chance I had to be there for her, I wasn't. I should have comforted her but I was inattentive instead..." Mario has no idea how to put into words how much of a mess everything surrounding Marco is. Saying he fucked up before it began is very much an oversimplification. He would be fucking up by beginning, is more accurate.

"Mario, you know me, I'm a romantic guy. So let me tell me you how I feel when I am in love. I know that that girl is out there for me, and when I finally meet her, there will be nothing I won't overcome to make it work. We are very good friends Mario, you think you hide so much from me, but I look at you, and I can see it in your face. You've met someone very important to you and you are already scared of losing her. But instead, if you really care, I think that you should put yourself out there, to show that you are willing to take risks for her and maybe she will be willing to do the same." At this point, André is caught up in his declarations of future (and of Mario's) love. He grabs Mario by the shoulders and shakes him a little, as if he is a coach imparting one last piece of wisdom to his best player at the 90th minute. "It's terrifying, I know this, but if you don't at least try you will regret it for the rest of your life. Wondering over all of the things you could have done. No matter how things seem now, if you don't make a move, then how will you ever know if it would work?" 

André is making a whole lot of sense to Mario.

He wanted it to be easy as that, it was almost as easy as that. Everything Marco does tells Mario he wants it too, but they are both afraid. There must be some way for it to be easy...

"So what are you proposing?" 

"To start, you need a gesture of apology. Send her some flowers to let her know that you are thinking of her, even while you are away." Mario grins at this, rubbing his chin as he imagines Marco finding a bouquet of flowers on his doorstep. At the very least the whole situation would be hilarious. At the very most, well, Mario isn't ready to think about that just yet.

Mario is praised the world over for being a fantastically creative and intelligent playmaker, and now he sees his play. His mouth opens wide to reveal a full set of razor sharp teeth, a shark's smile. He dives at André, grabbing him by the waist and sending both of them sailing off an open section of the boardwalk and into the sand. André lets out a strangled yell as Mario pins him, threatening to pour sand in every unpleasant area he can think of as André squirms beneath him. When it seems like André might overpower him Mario scrambles to his feet, tearing off across the sand with André in hot pursuit. As the afternoon wanes and the air begins to cool the boys chase each other in jagged lines across the beach, skimming across the shoreline and tackling each other, all conversation of relationships forgotten.

*******

A few hours later when they are putting on nice clothes for dinner with family, Mario makes a snap decision. He finds a number for a flower delivery service in Dortmund and calls them up. As he is giving the address (why does he have Marco's apartment committed to memory?), André emerges from the bathroom and Mario falters. On the one hand, it is highly unlikely that André would also have committed Marco's address in Dortmund to memory, but on the other hand, what can he possibly put on the card while André is listening and so that nobody in the world knows that Mario Götze is sending flowers to Marco Reus.

"They'll know who it's for and who it's from." He says hastily and hangs up the phone. André winks at him and gives him a thumbs up, giving no indication that he found anything in Mario's behaviour amiss.

As he studies himself in the mirror he remembers a promise he had made, that he would spend 2 weeks not worrying about Marco. He decided to focus more on achieving that goal as André and Mario step out of the hotel room to greet the rest of their vacation.


	15. Many Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective.

Marco had never been good at a clean break. Things in his life became fractured, frayed at the seams but somehow hanging together for ages, sometimes even healing themselves over time. It was this that brought him back to Dortmund after all those years, it was this that made him forget his older sister's bad comments every single time she accidentally let them slip out, and it was this that made breaking up with Leon last a lot longer than intended.

They canceled their family plans. Leon admitted the next morning that he had already hinted to his family that he might not be bringing anyone any longer, had a feeling Marco wouldn't follow through. It shouldn't have, but it stung Marco a bit, to know that Leon already had all of this in mind. Marco's family on the other hand were short of devastated that they were no longer meeting Marco's partner. Under the surface, Marco would guess that his father, at least, was relieved at avoiding a situation he would undoubtedly make awkward; but Von and Mel were beside themselves at being denied watching their father try to make small talk with the man that fucks his son. His mother was warm and loving about it, said it was no problem whatsoever, but he knew when he saw her he would see the disappointment in her eyes. He would feel her clutch him too close when they hugged, a hug that exposed the concern she harbored that her only son had "chosen" a life that would find him 70 and miserably alone. That her smile would falter from doting to sad, trying to look proud of a son that would never bring her grandchildren. Maybe he had measured above and beyond what they had wanted in a son in many ways, but in others he couldn't help but feel he was falling short. 

Nonetheless, Marco was comfortable with his relationship with all of his family and this shift in plans for Christmas was nothing they wouldn't all get past, even if it meant the standard Reus family habit of avoiding difficult topics and dismissing uncomfortable comments that slip out after a few glasses of wine.

Leon and Marco did, however, decide to keep plans to a charity dinner for New Years. Neither had any alternative plans to make as a handful of friends were attending the same event. Friends from Leon's work that had no idea they were dating and didn't even know that Leon is gay and so there was no risk of being seen out in public together. Marco reflected for a moment on how Leon would explain that Marco would no longer be hanging around with them. Then he realized that he didn't actually care in the slightest.

And so Marco found himself side by side with his ex-boyfriend when the ball dropped bringing in the New Year, and instead of a kiss they shared an awkward look as couples all around them embraced. 2013 arrived in purples and blues and cheers and smiles but for Marco an uneasiness was settling around him. 

For the second time in recent days Marco was startled by a flash in his face, blinding white light in stark contrast with his dark mood, as a photographer came around and snapped Marco and Leon, the only ones at the table not intertwined with someone else. It seemed fairly harmless; in their state it would have been hard for someone to look at the two of them, with their expressions and body language, and even call them friends, but it still reminded Marco painfully of the conversation he and Leon had had days before. He had been beating himself up at the thought that he had taken so many risks without once considering that someone could take full advantage of the situation and do something that could well end his career. When Leon turned to apologize to Marco for the situation, Marco grimaced and gestured that maybe it was time to head home. He placed the New Years crown he had been wearing onto the able and as the music returned and people were dragging their partners back onto dance floor, Marco was weaving his way through flashing lights and clicking heels, trying to find a door, Leon trailing behind him. The darkness of the room, the frenzied heat of bodies pulsating in time to the music, the smoke wafting in the air suddenly became stifling, and Marco nearly broke into a run.

When he finally found an exit he shoved the door open with one shoulder with more force than necessary and stalked out into the night, flicking his collar up against the cold. As he eyed the street for a cab he finally acknowledged that Leon was following him.

"I just want to go home, Leon." He said, emphasizing the word home so Leon would understand he meant alone, without him. Leon nodded at this and pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket. A friend having a smoke while another friend waited for a cab.

"Are you okay?" Leon asked him, a question which for some reason made Marco angry. He stopped himself from lashing out at Leon though and instead crossed his arms and tensed against the cold.

"Of course I am. Happy New Years, yeah?" He tried to bestow a content grin on Leon but knew that his face was twisting with all of the emotion he was trying to save for the refuge of his own home.

"Marco..." Leon began.

"Just, don't. Okay?" 

"Okay."

They stood together in silence, and for a moment Marco's irritation gave way to a tender affection for the man standing across from him. Someone who knew Marco better than he had ever let someone know him before. Someone who had gotten closer to Marco than he even thought possible, and even now made him feel safe. Made him feel like someone worth protecting, worth the worried look Leon was respectfully leveling at the ground. In a tangle of emotions, frayed wires that kept lighting up inside his head, threatening tears, threatening violence, threatening a wealth of things he couldn't express, he realized he loved Leon, in a way. Or at least, he loved what they had been able to have. And he resented himself so much for giving it up. And now he was annoyed that Leon seemed to be reading Marco's emotions better than he himself was. And he resented Leon for being able to so easily move on. New Years for so many people means renewed hope, oftentimes hopeful for love this year, but Marco is only beginning to wonder when he'll ever feel as safe with someone again. An emptiness settles somewhere in Marco's chest, an emptiness he knows he'll spend the year trying to fill with everything except that which would make him feel whole.

"We shouldn't be ending things here. Like this." Marco says quietly, staring hard at a puddle on the road.

"Maybe it's for the best. The last time didn't turn out quite the way you wanted, no?"

"But there's so many things I want to say." Things that he can't say here, where they might get picked up by someone who knows exactly who he is, or worse, picked up by a camera mic.

"Maybe I already know it all, Marco. And maybe it's better if you don't." And finally Leon looks sad too. For the first time since they started breaking up a week ago, Leon lets an emotion cross his face that is just for him. His sadness, his loss. Marco wonders what kind of man he is to feel comforted by this small acknowledgement that Leon will miss him.

"Thank you." Marco murmurs, a heavy, final phrase passed between two lovers to be held in two hearts, a small token of everything they were. And maybe that says it all.


	16. Concrete Miles

From the shoreline Mario could still feel and hear the thump of the bass from the party at the hotel bar. He could still hear distant laughter and applause as the rest of this touristy plot of beach celebrated a new year. Mario had promised to kiss the prettiest girl he could find but as the seconds ticked toward 0 he made no move to return from standing on the edge of the ocean, alone.

The indigo sky blended with a stroke against the black abyss of the ocean at the horizon. Mario was slightly drunk, swaying with the ebb and flow of the tide as it lapped at his toes, cold and encompassing as it swirled around him, just a little further each time. With each cycle Mario was entrenched more and more in the sandbank and sea, whether a race for him or a combined effort to claim him as a permanent fixture, he didn't know. Inwardly, Mario's thoughts thrashed in the same motion as he debated with himself about whether to make a phone call.

He wondered if Marco had received his flowers, and whether he figured out who they were from. He wondered if in his absence Marco had already found a new boy to start the year with, one who wouldn't be afraid to kiss him on the mouth in public, to walk with fingers intertwined. Things that couldn't happen regardless, but Mario thinks that Marco would take comfort knowing that he would. A boy that could be all of the things that Mario is not. 

He doesn't make the call because what would he even say? Mario is terrified and revolted at the thought of being the pathetic drunk boy who calls at New Year's because he has nothing better to do than pine. He imagines himself walking forward, the sea level climbing steadily until he becomes a part of the salty darkness, floating in eerie silence for immeasurable time. Emerge again, cleansed of his affliction, free of the thoughts that, fixed like cement galoshes, made him sink like a stone in the sea.

With a squelch Mario frees his feet from the relentless force of the tide and walks back towards the noise of the party, kicking up salt water in his wake. 

What does a new year mean to him?

In short, nothing. The beginning of a calendar year, the middle of a season, the start of a transfer window, the end of a brief holiday. Mario has never been one for New Year's resolutions.

The one thing Mario had always wanted, was born to want, spent his whole life trying to achieve, was the life he had now. He had never tried to be a footballer, he always had been, and before he was old enough to consider what he wanted out of adulthood, he was finding it laid out in front of him. But now there was something Mario wanted, something that required risks and a path he would have to pick out on his own. He had never felt this way before, and the sheer honesty of it, the painful vulnerability of it, made him want to walk into the ocean and disappear until it went away. 

But he also felt a stronger pull within telling himself that he didn't want to run from it. He wanted to embrace it full on and feel the weight of it crush him, swallow him whole and spit him back out again as something more than he was before, something he never could have been without it. He wanted to dive face first into this unknown territory and conquer it as he conquered every match he played, every inch of pitch until the game was his. He wanted to find that opening, the weakness in defense that he would play the ball right into, making the perfect cross to a teammate or slotting the ball in the top right corner. He wanted to bound across a green field to the delight of fans and to an endless blue sky above. He wanted to run towards it and jump into it's arms, celebrating life and everything it meant to him.

Everything in life has the opportunity to sink you, and Mario takes great pride in knowing that he will take the challenge every time. This particular challenge, so unfamiliar to him, can be packed into a box that he understands, that he can find a way to win. It has to.

Mario checks his phone and realizes that he had missed midnight, hadn't noticed the change in atmosphere as a group of people just behind him counted down to zero and screamed all of their joy and hopes into a fresh year. He realized also that he had nothing to give this new year, and he didn't know what he would ask of it. He didn't know what he wanted, and that was part of the problem.

Above everything, Mario hated not knowing what to do next. His tactic has always been find the quickest way in, find the best play and carry it out. But the goal was always simple, the same. This was not him, floundering one way and another, being forced around by a tide of indecision within his own worried mind. Mario Götze didn't worry, he acted.

The new year in Dubai was not yet the new year in Germany, which was odd to think about. What did this measured time mean, when it was so easily altered by traveling forward and backward, an hour here, less an hour there. What was it to lose a few hours with someone that you care about, if only to gain that time back somewhere down the line?

As the tide still licked at his toes, Mario felt he was standing on the edge of the world, on the edge of _his_ world. Like the water submerging his feet then pulling back, he too would move forward and pull back before he became one or the other, the ocean or dry land. It felt like he wasn't making any decision, but maybe he was only delaying a decision he had made a long time ago. Didn't he just say he always dives right in? Maybe he has already taken the plunge, and now it is time to swim.

All of that deep, dark, water, all of that unknown territory that, when misdirected, will trace their paths in Mario's skin and leave scars, change the timbre of the beat of his heart, send him reeling into a different path entirely. Mario had a reputation for being unpredictable, and sometimes he couldn't even predict himself. Acting in the moment was what helped him be a great footballer, but it was also something dangerous to behold.

If he wasn't drunk, Mario would have liked to have swam. It would resonate with all that he has laid bare within himself to let the ocean claim him for a little while and emerge knowing that he would not drown. But the ocean is perhaps less merciless than falling in love, and even more unpredictable than Mario. He would not be so foolish as that.

For it would be foolish to compare attempting a drunken dog paddle in the ocean at midnight in Dubai to taking a chance with Marco. Like the hours between here and Germany, whatever Mario does next he believes will be something he can take back. Drowning, not so much.

As Mario breaks into a brisk jog, turning his back on the ocean and the tide, he doesn't feel as though any decision has been made tonight. Mario is not like the ocean, or the night, he is like the sun, and what he wants has been burning within him for a long time now. It just took a short visit with the sea to realize that it is time now to burn.


	17. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

And so it was that both men entered the New Year in a bit of a tailspin. They had crossed the calendar line feeling altogether the same as they had before, but also with the smallest hint that things were about to change. And it was the distance of two weeks put between them that made things more than a little awkward on the first day back in training. It was like they had forgotten what it felt like to be around each other. In the changing room when it all came rushing back, both were caught off guard, unsure of how they had been behaving around this person who occupied so much of their waking mind. Unsure how to act the same, without letting the other know that in the last two weeks they had been completely pulled apart. All over the seemingly incongruous idea of togetherness.

All of the awkwardness fell away as the training session began and the simpatico they were known for on the pitch fell back into place, had never in fact left. It existed without any effort on their part, as it always had been, and always would be. This live wire connecting them, body and mind, allowing them to move in unison, an extension of the other. As Mario jogged alongside Marco he tried not be hyper aware of this, tried not to let it become a tension, tried not to carry the current of his mind to somewhere less focused on football. Fully clad in long sleeves, hats and gloves, they ran side by side in content silence as the team tittered around them, discussing holidays and letting their breath come out in puffs, their stride heavy as their footfalls were absorbed by the frozen unyielding ground.

Rather than pulling the strand to a tense knot in his mind, he concentrated on the connection, on the apex of it, where they could be their best selves. Perhaps Marco felt it too, for it came to an apogee when Jürgen had been screaming and gesturing at Mario about keeping pace with Marco and Robert rather than falling back to make a play. In a game of scrimmage with Mario and Marco on one side, Marco came tearing down the middle with Mario trailing to the right. As Marco leapt over a sliding Piszczek, a slight nudge off the tip of his boot sent the ball veering right into Mario's path. With a flick of the side of his heel the ball was back in front of Marco and without hesitation he sent it soaring over Weidenfeller who was rushing forward to cut off the angle, right into the back of the net. In the heat of the moment it felt like a real game and a real goal and Marco and Mario bumped hips as Jürgen was jumping up and down and shouting "Yes Mario, yes, just like that!"

Later, in the showers, Mario marveled at how natural it felt, working with Marco, being around Marco. More than that, being of the same mind. This natural pull towards each other, the nonverbal communication that put Marco exactly where Mario needed him to be. It was a mix of Marco's mind forming the same plays as Mario and of knowing the way Mario moved enough to predict where he would be next that allowed him to put himself in the exact right place to receive a pass. It was something you feel all the time on the pitch, with the ultimate objective of any team being perfect passing and moving as a cohesive unit. But this felt different, more substantial, daresay like something that transcends the bounds of the sport. Mario felt this instinctively, and beneath that was a drive to push it to it's very extremity. At the core of all that he was warring with in his mind was the desire to feel the accord in so many different scenarios, positions. To let this natural drive, this feverish yearning that had been consuming his mind carry him above and beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He could feel that it had the capacity to achieve something he might be loath to call transcendence. A gleaming double-edged sword of power but also destruction.

Either way, Mario was powerless in the face of it.

As everyone was exiting the changing room, Mario and Marco were both lingering, taking too much time to fix their hair and pack up their things. Again moving as one. Finally they were alone, both immediately aware of the presence of only the other. A completely unspoken decision to find themselves in this convenient moment of privacy fulfilled.

"I had almost forgotten how well we perform together." Mario said to Marco, letting his thigh brush against Marco's as he zipped up his bag. He felt Marco lean into the contact slightly though he hadn't yet looked over. "I think I really missed it over the break."

"I did too," Marco replied. He sat down on the bench but made no move to put on his shoes. Instead he looked up at Mario, a pleasant, relaxed expression on his face but a glint of longing in his eye. Mario sat down beside him, felt the warmth of Marco against him, let his arm fall into Marco's lap.

They looked at each other for one long, supercharged moment before Marco held Mario's chin in his hand and kissed him. It was a slow kiss, but without any hesitation. He parted Mario's lips to let his tongue slide smoothly against Mario's, and for once Mario didn't let himself fear the intimacy of the moment. Instead he threaded his hand in Marco's hair, as one of Marco's hands found his other hand, still in Marco's lap, and squeezed gently. Mario shifted his body and they leaned their heads against the wall behind the bench, the kiss deepening. Mario felt heat coarsing through his body, he felt himself hardening in his jeans and wanted to press himself against Marco, but the position prevented it. Instead the kiss became chaste, an unwielding bench and an even harder wall preventing them from moving more freely. Marco broke off the kiss to trail his mouth along Mario's jawline, press his tongue against his throat. Mario shivered as without breaking contact Marco shifted so that he was straddling Mario, pushing his back flesh against the wall and their hips pressing together. A moan escaped Mario when Marco found a particularly sensitive part of his neck, fingertips pressing into shoulders and chest pressing against chest. He guided Marco's mouth back to his and kissed him more insistently, wrapped his arms around Marco's hips, trying to pull him closer. Marco's lower body shifted in the most satisfying way and Mario moaned into Marco's mouth and let his hands wander to Marco's zipper. He longed to feel the planes of his chest, to feel his hard cock against his bare skin. He popped the button open one handed and pulled the zipper down a few inches. He felt the tip of Marco's cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, and Marco's hips moved with Mario's hand as he tried to find friction.

When Marco's hand was scrabbling to find a position where he could stroke Mario too they realized they would have to move and also discard all of the clothes that were now very constricting. Each had the distinct feeling that stopping the momentum would cause the other to rethink what they were doing and desperately did not want that to happen. Without a word Marco was removing his shirt and Mario was following suit. With a sense of urgency, Marco extricated himself from Mario's lap to take down his pants, already undone and pulled a little ways down his hips. Before removing them completely he took a moment to run his hands along Mario's chest, kissing him again and letting his fingertips explore his torso, making him shudder as his thumbs rubbed a nipple to a hard nub as Mario fumbled to unzip his own pants. Mario removed a condom and packet of lube and placed it on the bench before sliding his jeans and boxers over his thighs. Mario kissed Marco back with more urgency, holding him steady as Marco removed his jeans. He took Marco's cock in one hand and stroked the length. His hand drifted lower and he took Marco's balls in his hand, massaging gently and causing Marco's hands, now rubbing circles around both of Mario's nipples, to grip his waist tightly, then his hand found Mario's hard dick and gave it some attention. 

Without having to ask, Marco reached blindly for the packet of lube and tore it open without looking, let the viscous liquid pour over his hands and between his fingers. He pressed their bodies against each other as he stroked Mario a few times with a lubricated hand, letting their precome and the lube mix together. Mario's hips tilted with the movement, his kiss became messier, his breathing hitched. He could already feel a tightening in his groin, the very beginnings of that ultimate pleasure licking in tendrils between his thighs, up his shaft, other parts of him begging to feel it too. Mario gasped at the slight pressure when Marco's finger slipped inside of him, and he parted his hips willingly to allow him to go deeper, wished for a moment that they were in a better setting, so that he could find a position to slide Marco's finger in deeper, control the speed and hit the bundle of nerves that he was just brushing against now. Marco removed his finger entirely and Mario groaned, but then he reentered Mario with 2 fingers, pressing further, wider, closer, faster.

Finally a word escaped Mario. "Fuck," he said hoarsely. "I need you so badly," he practically whispered, as Marco kissed the corner of his lip and let his fingers press momentarily against that spot, and Mario flicked his wrist a bit as he stroked Marco in encouragement.

Mario noticed that Marco's hand was shaking slightly as he took Mario's cheek in his hand, cool against the flush in his face. He ran his fingers through Mario's hair as he pulled his fingers slowly and deliberately out of him. He held Mario steady when he moved his head to protest the absence of Marco within him. "Please." Mario begged, as Marco dragged his teeth along Mario's lower lip. Then he was tearing open the condom and pushing at Mario's shoulder. Again, without having to ask, directing Mario into the position that was always in the forefront of his fantasies. 

Mario braced one hand against the wall as he bent over the bench, one knee resting on it to steady himself. Marco's lips found Mario's ear and sucked lightly at his earlobe as he guided himself slowly inside of Mario. Just the tip at first and Mario realized he was really tight but wanted Marco to fill him up and fast. He tilted his hips so that he was guiding Marco further in. That was all the encouragement Marco needed, and he pushed all of the way in with a grunt, pressing right up against the hot bundle of nerves in the first thrust. Mario cried out and Marco held his shoulders steady as he pulled halfway out and pushed back in, slower this time. He kissed along Mario's shoulder blade, one hand finding Mario's cock and stroking in time. And then his whispered kisses became sucks, hard enough to leave a mark as he pushed in further so that his balls slapped against Mario's ass. Mario moaned louder, reached a hand over his shoulder to caress Marco, spur him on. Marco was breathing shallowly in Mario's ear, pushing deeper inside of him, filling him up, pressing against the pleasure point. He was digging his nails into Mario's shoulder and stroking him quicker, sending shudders of pleasure through Mario. The sound of skin against skin was driving Mario to the edge and fast. He moved his hips with the rhythm of Marco and felt the urgency in the movements now, felt that Marco was as close as he was. "Fuck, Marco" he moaned as Marco hit the spot over and over and bit into Mario's shoulder, a thousand times better than the way he always imagined it. He came hard, Marco's now erratic stroking motion causing ribbons of come to spill over his stomach and the bench and blend with the white painted wall as he felt his body clenching around Marco and Marco spilling his load inside of him. Wave after wave of pleasure shuddered through him and Marco bit down harder, held tighter, thrust a few more times and stroked Mario through his orgasm.

Mario felt Marco's whole body relax, within him and over top of him as his hands moved to gently caress Mario's shoulder, his lips tracing the path they had just passionately mapped, brushing a palm lightly over the spot he had bit into, a spot that would undoubtedly purple into a bruise. Lingering pleasure rippled across Mario's skin as Marco leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the side of his jaw before pulling out of him with a quiet gasp.

"Fuck, Marco" Mario said again. Letting his head rest against the wall, his hand numb from holding their weight. He could hear Marco grabbing tissue and beginning to clean up. He closed his eyes, not wanting the moment to end for fear of what might happen next. Wanting to stretch the feel of Marco's hands on his sensitive post-coital skin, to bask in the warmth that was spreading through his body.

He bit his lip to hold back the witticisms that were threatening to escape, all of which would be a poor attempt at making everything more casual, downplay the moment to something he can understand and live with. He tried to close off his mind from all of these thoughts that were moving too fast when he just wanted to lay down here and rest a while, with Marco's warm body pressing into his back, restful breathing muffled into the back of his neck. No concerns in the world, no world at all outside of the warm glow that would surround the blissfully sleeping bodies.

When he finally straightened up and turned, Marco had put on boxers, and he embraced Mario for just a moment, breathed him in as if trying to commit it all to memory. Mario's heart beat painfully in his chest and he let his arms wind up Marco's bare back, but prevented himself from acting on a sudden overwhelming desire to hold him tighter, pull him as close as physically possible and never let go.

"So that just happened." Marco said lightly, laughing a little nervously, something in his tone betraying his casual demeanor. Fear?

"Yes it did." Mario replied, meeting Marco's eyes and smiling unabashedly, letting everything he was feeling flood freely into his gaze. Marco smiled back warmly and in the naked honesty of the moment he almost thought that they would begin to kiss, start the whole thing over again. But then Marco was looking away.

"We should get dressed, the door isn't even locked." He said, passing Mario his clothes in a bundle. "There's some tissue there," he said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Mario had no idea what he wanted to say so instead he began to dress in silence, his clothes chafing uncomfortably against his still sensitive skin. In the stretching silence he felt the mood of the room shifting, becoming more detached, like the end of the one night stand. Two people untangling themselves from one another, gathering their things and moving on. Mario avoided Marco's eyes and Marco did the same, each afraid of what the other might find there. Each confused as to what they would want to find if they did look.

Thoughts swirled at a dizzying pace in his head as he tried to think of something he could say. He couldn't catch a single one that would say enough but not too much. He felt certain at least that he was infinitely glad for what they had done, but also felt certain that he needed time to gather his thoughts, get a better grip on what it all meant. He didn't know how to communicate this certain incertitude to Marco. But then Marco saved him the trouble.

"Maybe we should just chat tomorrow, yeah?" Marco asked, shouldering his bag and pushing open the door for them.

Mario nodded and went out the door, the air noticeably cooler in the hallway. As Marco let the door close behind him one hand unconsciously moved to the small of Mario's back, guiding him toward the exit. There was a tension in the air that, from Mario's side, he would attribute to the deluge of thoughts but also the confusing absence of emotion that was currently at odds within himself. As they exited the building and paused to say good bye, it felt amicable again, like two players leaving a training session, exhausted and satisfied by the effort.

"Tomorrow then." Mario said.

"Tomorrow." Marco agreed, and they left, waving a little awkwardly at each other from a distance of 3 feet. 

Hours later, Mario fell asleep with the resignation that he was no closer to understanding any of it than he had been since the day it started.


	18. Ain't No Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

The next morning, it finally hit him.

It was like a fuse had been lit inside him, everything just happened so fast. He didn't even remember making the decision to do it. It had been a mutual agreement, lingering in the locker room, hands wandering, desire heightening to a consuming degree. Burning up for that one moment of sweet relief. Of being fucked by Marco Reus.

In his head, Mario could almost convince himself that one time was enough. If they went from today and pretended nothing had happened, everything would have carried on. They might even play better together, knowing each other that much more.

But then he knew that when he saw Marco again all thoughts of that would be out the window. The slightest touch would be a reminder of how it made him feel, send his mind to the place it was before, making him desperate to feel it all over again. Over and over. He could spend the rest of his life reliving that exact moment and he would be satisfied every single time.

He didn't want to think about what this all meant, about the fact that nobody else had ever made him feel like that before. Of the power it gave someone else over him. Once he started thinking about it, he would never stop. And when something gets stuck in Mario's head, he can never ever let it go.

Instead he focused on the fact that he still smelled of sex and of Marco. He focused on imagining Marco laying in his own bed thinking the same thing, desiring to feel it all over again and soon. It would be so easy to develop a relationship that involved doing this. Often and regularly. Never think about anything else, consequences or feelings. Just the feel of skin against skin and elation that surged through his entire body.

He was letting his mind skim teasingly over the finer points of the previous evening, heat spreading languorously through his body, feeling the soft spot on his shoulder where a purple bruise was evident, teeth marks indented around it if you looked closely. It had been so much of what he had always fantasized about that he thought he might short circuit with the very real sensation of it. More forceful than he could ever have imagined. Marco's hot body against, fingers probing, finding the right spot with ease and letting them brush against it ever so slightly, Mario's body begging for all of it all at once hard and fast and deep and all of Marco filling him up. Marco driving deep inside of him, moaning against his neck as he too was overwhelmed by just how good it really was. Marco unashamedly showing Mario just how much he enjoyed taking him all for himself. 

Just when Mario was getting carried away with the replay, ditching his idea for a shower in favour of the urgency of how hot just remembering it made him, he noticed his phone screen lit up on the bed beside him. Incoming call from Marco Reus. Well then.

"Marco?" Mario answered the phone, hoping his voice didn't sound as hoarse as he thought it did, that he wasn't breathing as loudly as he thought he was.

"Mario." Marco replied. Something guarded in his tone, that made Mario sit up against his headboard in concentration and the slightest glimmer of alarm.

"Uh, what's up?" Mario asked, covering the microphone on his phone to cough in an attempt to clear his throat and his mind of what had moments before been a few strokes away from busting on his stomach.

"We should talk. Today." Marco said firmly, still no hint of his mood or his intention.

"We are talking right now, Marco."

"In person." Marco continued, ignoring Mario's sarcasm. "Can you come to mine?"


	19. Fluff Like Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's perspective.
> 
> This is just a lot of fluff

Marco had known that seeing Mario again would set him on fire inside, but he still wasn't expecting to feel quite so taken aback upon opening his front door to find Mario Götze leaning against the door frame. Despite it being fairly warm for January, the temperature above freezing, Mario's face was pink from the cold, and traces of snow melt about his crown. When he sees Marco he imparts a broad smile, comforting and relaxed, like the intense warmth between the sheets on the coldest night of the year. 

"I--" Marco is already stammering.

"Hi?" Mario supplies. His smile becomes smug as he enjoys the affect he is having on Marco's ability to string two words together.

"Come in." Marco finally manages, stepping aside to allow Mario entry. Mario strides inside and starts to unbutton his coat, underneath which he is wearing a crimson blazer that exemplifies just how much of a tan he got over the holidays. Another thing that was throwing Marco off.

"You really took advantage of the vacation time, didn't you? Do they have nude beaches in Dubai or does that tan have it's limits?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Mario replies slyly, taking a seat for the first time in his life at Marco's kitchen counter. Marco tries not to think about how much he'd like this to be something he sees more often.

"I should probably know already, don't you think?"

"True. Guess you must have been distracted."

Distracted, right. This certainly did not start as Marco had intended.

"I think we made a mistake yesterday." Marco blurts out, the smile immediately turning into a frown on Mario's face.

"A mistake?" He hedges. Marco is so lost, he chides himself for becoming so easily flustered by the beautiful boy in front of him. The one whose very presence sent jabs of arousal straight to his gut, and made his head feel light, blood pumping into inappropriate places at the memory of his skin. The boy whom he was about to tell he would never sleep with again. Marco takes a deep breath and forces himself to continue.

"You asked me once what the most important thing is in my life. We both had the same answer."

"Yes..." Mario replies, comprehension dawning in his face. He purses his lips in a look of distaste as he realizes what Marco is about to say. He looks adorably displeased at being refused a thing he wants. And now Marco's thoughts are going in absolutely the wrong direction.

"As much as I enjoyed, _that_ , I just think that we are being very foolish. Risking things without taking into account the fact that these are things neither of us are willing to risk. And for what?" Marco is building himself up to list off methodically all of the reasons he's formed in his mind. Trying over and over again to convince himself to do the right thing. Hoping that Mario doesn't push too hard, because it wouldn't take much to crumble his contrived resolve.

Mario stares at him for a long moment. Looking for something in Marco, he doesn't know what. Marco should continue, should list off all of his reasons, but he finds himself immobilized in Mario's gaze. Caught between the moment where Mario will protest, insist that it is worth the risk, that Marco is worth the risk. Or to agree and give Marco all of the same explanations he has given himself for why it shouldn't continue. Marco waits, poised on the edge of this knife, not knowing which side is better or worse. And maybe he will wait forever at the axis where his eyes meet Mario's, for Mario to choose a side so he won't have to. Finally, he replies. The knife quivers, the coin spins but doesn't fall to either side. A single word, almost no meaning attached to it. Not to Marco, anyway. 

"Okay." A word that doesn't break his flimsy defence, but nor does it build it up. A word that is neither an agreement nor a disagreement. A word that professes nothing that is going on in Mario's head. And yet a word that convinces Marco that he needs to reinforce the resolve and make it something to stand on.

"Okay?" Marco tries not to let anger seep into his tone. He would have preferred anything to the cold indifference Mario is adopting now. Mario must have heard something in Marco's tone because he tries to put more direction into his next words.

"You are right. It is foolish to do something for the sake of doing it. Because it feels good and no matter how good it feels. We can both agree on that."

"Yes..." Marco replies, still unsure of what Mario is saying, of which side he is falling on. He is saying what he is supposed to say, but he is smiling at Marco in a way that is suggesting the opposite.

"So we are in agreement then." Mario finishes lamely (in Marco's eyes). He stands up from the stool and runs a hand idly along the granite counter top. He opens the fridge, peers unseeingly inside, closes the fridge. Rearranges some magnets on the fridge. Finally grins easily at Marco, who is still watching him, a confused expression on his face. Even after they've had sex this boy doesn't cease to perturb him. More and more it is seeming as though nothing has changed. Marco doesn't know what to make of this.

"I don't understand..." Marco says slowly and not for the first time in their relationship.

"So, that's all there is to say, no? We will not have sex again. If that is what we both want." Mario says, as if this was what they had both just said. Marco realizes that it is indeed exactly what they both said, he just never expected it to be said in so few words.

"Okay." Marco replies, is it that easy?

"So, can we hang out now, as friends?"

"I guess so." Marco says.

"Great. Have you got Netflix?" Mario asks, continuing on into the living room and throwing himself onto Marco's couch. Another sight that causes Marco to have to shake the longing of wanting to see more often. He joins Mario on the couch, each taking up a post on opposite ends. Mario turns on the tv but leaves the volume low and twists his body towards Marco. Marco does the same, he finally let's a smile stretch his lips when he sees Mario considering him, an amused expression on his face. He is beginning to feel a bit ridiculous about all of this.

"It doesn't have to be difficult, Marco." Mario says simply.

"Of that I am glad. I guess I was just a bit afraid that we had messed things up between us." Marco replies.

"Marco." Mario begins. But then he is flipping through channels on the television and not looking at Marco. At first Marco is as confused as he has been since the conversation began but then he notices that Mario's ears are red, a tell tale body reaction he is all too familiar with. He decides to wait it out. He turns to stare at the television as well. They sit in a slightly tense silence for several minutes as Mario flips through the channels faster than he can register what is playing. Just as quickly he flicks off the power and slaps the remote onto the living room table with a bit too much force.

"Marco." He begins again. He smiles sheepishly at Marco and it takes everything in Marco not to lean across the couch and take his hand, kiss his neck, press their bodies together, any contact all. He wants to use his lips to coax the words out of him, to feel the heat of his body and the hitch in his breath and establish a closeness between them stronger than their physical contact. He doesn't even care what Mario wants to say, just wants him, wants to be with him.

A few hours ago Marco had realized that Mario was a boy who would do reckless things just to get laid. It wasn't personal for Mario the way it was for Marco. And that scared Marco, because he didn't know how he'd feel about it later. But more than that, he didn't want to be responsible for risking the younger man's career. They both had a lot of eyes on them, but he had a feeling that Mario wouldn't handle the pressure if anything came to light about them, he's not ready for that. These were just a few of the reasons he had built up in his head. And there was just a hint of falseness to them.

Mostly Marco was terrified that he would let himself fall so hard for the boy across the sofa from him that he would let him be hurt by him, over and over again. That he would risk his career, his everything, just to feel for a few moments that Mario cared for him too. He was unfairly resentful towards Mario for the restraint he had shown in not letting himself become so attached. The way he so easily let it all go tonight with one simple word. It proved Marco right but also unfortunately instilled in him an eagerness to convince Mario to feel all of the things he is feeling right now. Like maybe it is all not so far away if Marco is willing to push it. But he shouldn't be willing to push it.

In a moment of strong will Marco had asked Mario over to his house to finish it off once and for all, to take all of those reasons and place them between them before they could do any real damage. But he finds himself wading through it, the one thing emerging in the mess of it the smile on Mario's lips, the flush in his face, all equating to Marco's own unbearable affection for the boy. Friendship is something he is more than willing to accept, eagerly so, just to have a relationship with Mario. But under the surface aware that he is powerless to deny so much more. His fortitude was quickly shaken by the undeniable attachment he feels for the boy next to him.

And so he sits silently on the couch and once again lets Mario steer the night.

"I really like you." Mario finally continues. Marco's heart squeezes in his chest. "Like as a person. Spending time with you, I will enjoy it. I don't want us not to be friends. So please, let us not make it weird and instead get to know each other more."

"I really like you too, Sunny." Marco replies. Mario smiles at the nickname, his face lighting up as if to prove it true. "And to be honest I'm surprised things aren't weird after yesterday, it doesn't feel like anything has changed."

"Because nothing has changed. Nothing will change. We are as we have always been." 

Over time, posture became more relaxed. With every shift of weight, slight movement to find a more comfortable position, they got closer and closer together. As the late afternoon drifted into the night their bodies had drifted from opposing ends of the sofa to sharing the middle cushion so that thighs were touching and they had spent several hours laughing and talking but had not crossed any boundaries towards the thing they had agreed not to do. When Mario decided it was time to go Marco walked him to the door and they were already making plans to spend more time together soon. Before he left Mario imparted a chaste kiss on Marco's forehead that from anyone else would have seemed out of place. But from Mario it made Marco's heart flutter in his chest and warmth spread all the way to his toes.

The whole idea of their friendship was maybe a little misplaced, Marco thought, but it was all they had and it seemed they were both committed to making the best of it. Not to mention, he had to admit, Mario is the best friend he had ever had. For so many reasons he'd rather not count.

Dreamless sleep, comforted by thoughts of the continuation of a beautiful friendship.


	20. Looks Just Like the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.

In hindsight, Mario probably should have finished jerking off before he went to Marco's.

He had maybe been supposing that he would find relief there, but instead he showed up completely keyed up in the wrong circumstance. He wonders idly how things would have gone if he didn't feel such aching affection for Marco, an affection that started in the region of his groin and spread to places that made him want to say all the wrong things.

Would he have said more or less? Hard to tell.

Marco didn't even ask if Mario had his address, and seemed taken aback when he opened the door to find Mario on the other side, but not altogether surprised. Mario supposed he looked pretty ready to be fucked, and the dazed smile Marco couldn't get off his face was gratifying. 

Mario felt so happy to be there, that things seemed to be falling into place. But instead they quickly fell apart.

"I think we made a mistake yesterday." Marco said without any preamble. 

A mistake? That had been pretty much the last thing on Mario's mind. They had been doing everything right. Did Marco not know how close he was to making Mario his forever (or had he already done just that)?

But peering into Marco's face Mario sees something in it he recognizes: fear. That they should be wary of their relationship stops the heat pulsing through Mario's body. Are they making a mistake in moving so quickly? Should they allow themselves to be so dominated by this emotion?

Another option crosses Mario's mind, that sends his heart racing and the fear increasing tenfold. 

Take the plunge.

He spends an interminable moment poised to let the heat spill over, the words he has been shutting out of his mind pouring out of him in waves of desire and the promise that a future with him is the only conceivable outcome. That anything outside of Marco and Mario is irrelevant.

He comes so close to saying it, Marco, you are everything to me and nothing else matters but this right here, every moment with you eclipses every other moment until we have nothing left. The all-consuming furnace of his heart and mind are too far past retracing steps to something more safe. Is this what you want? Mario? To destroy everything in the name of--? He grinds himself to a halt because he is too close to an edge.

Thousands of words and a few actions could bring Mario to a point he's been both dreading and yearning for months and Mario, an expert in control, teeters on the edge of it. It would be so easy to say everything he wanted to say but it would also be irreversible. A beat too late, he realizes Marco had been speaking to him and was now waiting for his response. Mario's mind scrambles to replay what they had been saying; he stares back at Marco, the fear mirrored in his eyes, and something else there. Something warm and beautiful and reserved for him. Something that can only be claimed by time, coaxed out by small affectionate touches, words, quiet murmurs against soft skin that enfolds them both in a loving embrace. Mario takes a dozen steps away from the edge, a retreat that will be countered by finding a better way to whatever waits for them below. Love is not a cliff to throw yourself from.

"Okay." He says, maybe more to himself. His heart beats comfortably in his chest, and it swells at this new idea of building everything up slowly to become something he has never had before. A friend, a lover, someone who was everything to him. Before Marco, it was something he had never desired.

Suddenly restless to begin, Mario paced around the kitchen, oriented himself with the space, one he hoped he would be frequenting often. He tested out the sofa and when he felt Marco's weight sinking into the adjacent side, the feeling of belonging was so complete that everything rushed back to him, the desire to spill his heart almost overwhelming.

"Marco..." He began, but then took a steadying breath and ran over his mind all of the reasons to take things slow. He knew he was being eager partly because blood was still flowing lazily towards his dick and his balls ached at the delay in orgasm. None of this was reason to say too much. And yet he couldn't say nothing at all. Marco was waiting patiently beside him for some explanation for what might be, to him, strange behaviour.

"Marco." He began again. "I really like you." He said vaguely. "Like, as a person." He continued lamely. What the fuck was he even saying. Marco seemed to understand.

"I really like you too, Sunny." Marco agreed, and Mario's face flushed happily at the nickname. He tried to ignore the rush through his body at the reminder of the heat of the day before. 

And so Mario maintained a safe distance across the sofa, at first anyway, as the television stayed on mute and they exchanged words for longer than Mario ever remembers just talking with someone other than his brothers.

"I'm sorry if I offended you before, about, you know, being bisexual." Marco said at one point. "I had never met someone bisexual before and maybe I have some really wrong ideas about what that means." 

"It's fine, I guess I'm just used to people thinking badly of it, so I react before they can even say anything. You were just trying to understand me better."

"So, what does it mean, exactly? I mean I know generally but--" 

"Do you ever feel like a label is insufficient?" Mario fiddles absently with the corner of a cushion as he tries to find the right words. This is a conversation he feels like he's been waiting to have his entire life and yet he has no idea how to say it right. It just feels so good to finally express himself, who he is, and to someone who is listening patiently. Indeed, Marco is watching him raptly, as if every word is unraveling a truth he had been searching for. Though he doesn't agree, he waves a hand for Mario to continue. "For as long as I can remember I've liked girls I've met and I've liked boys I've met, it's simple as that. I don't think about it, I just feel it. I act on whatever attractions present themselves, and it really isn't dictated by gender."

Marco adjusted himself on the sofa, his body inching closer to Mario's. "Yeah, but, like. I guess what I don't understand is...when you're horny, like, do you think about men, women, both at once?" Marco asked, a crooked smile at the directness of the question. Mario opted for a less than direct answer (the truth: lately all I think about is you).

"Yeah, I see how that might be confusing. It's just, whatever I'm feeling at a time, I don't know. It's the same as what you might think about. Maybe the gender doesn't change for you, but other aspects do and none of it is really your own choosing, it's just how your body reacts to your brain or to outside stimulants or whatever."

"That makes sense. So what about when you are wanting to act on that desire, does it jump back and forth?" Mario edges closer to Marco, their thighs touch the same place as the day before. Mario feels a warmth spreading through his entire body as the sun pooling on bare skin on the beach.

"You're asking me if I would desire a man one day and a woman the next." Mario says without inflecting a question.

"Well, yeah." Marco doesn't explain why he's asking, but Mario thinks he understands.

"I know that bisexuals have a reputation for being selfish and unfaithful. That they will take whatever they want with no regard for peoples' feelings. Well, I am selfish. If I want something I will take it. If I want someone, I won't hold myself back to avoid becoming some stereotype of the overactive bisexual. I want what I want and that's all there is to it." Mario basks in the power of these words. The person he sees in the mirror, who desires everything and takes it regardless of what others would think of him. A facade that is only partially real, for he does do that, but he also hides himself.

"But I'm not unfaithful. Or, at least, I don't think I am. Truth be told, I've never really..." He trails off before he can say what he was going to, _I've never felt this way about anyone before._

"The right person would be enough for me." Mario finished, tried not to stare too intensely back at Marco, who was considering all of this deeply. He nodded, a finger running absently across his lower lip. His desire seemed to throb through him at random times, and for a moment Mario desperately wanted it to be his own finger, let it slip into Marco's mouth and feel his tongue and teeth run along the pad of his thumb. Instead he settled for moving slightly so the pressure of his thigh against Marco's was greater.

They moved onto other topics and Mario was thrilled that Marco had accepted all of what he said at face value, that he accepted that Mario was what he said he was. Below the surface, Mario wondered why he should think anything else, but he shakes off that thought. For too long he's plagued himself with all the negative things people think of him but will never say to his face. Marco meets his eyes with sincerity and he feels flush with the idea that someone could know him this well and still look at him like that.

Finally, it seemed time to leave, and Mario couldn't resist a chaste kiss on Marco's forehead that him blush to the roots of his hair. The affect Mario could have on Marco was a lot to pass up, but really he was only passing it up for now. Patience is not a virtue Mario has often been accredited with, but tonight he was as virtuous as...well...probably the average person.

Upon gaining the solitude of the hallway Mario resisted the temptation to skip along. He had a good feeling about tonight, about this year, about everything. All he wanted was to keep on this exact path that felt so right, and what was happening right now between him and Marco would be enough.

Or so he thought.


	21. Just a Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario's perspective.
> 
> This chapter was originally longer but I'm splitting it into 2 to get myself into the story again. Apologies for the delay and thank you for reading!
> 
> This is just fluff and relationship building.

An away game at Werder Bremen, the first match of the New Year saw Mario's resolve crumble. High on the adrenaline from the match, Marco and Mario each pocketed a goal, and a convenient hotel situation had Mario knocking on Marco's door long after the curfew. 

If Mario was a different sort of man, maybe he would have realized the risks he took in doing things for the wrong reasons. But it was Marco's wide smile to the backdrop of a crowd singing just for them and the way his body moved that was so reminiscent of that day in the lockers and the lingering touches. And how he couldn't see a difference in the way Marco was to him and the way he was to Nuri Şahin.

Nuri is the type of person who develops a special relationship with everyone he meets, when you exchange grins with Nuri it is a version of Nuri that is reserved just for you. Rejoining the team felt as though he had never left. Nuri at Dortmund just makes sense and many, Mario included, fell into old patterns with him. These had all been qualities Mario had at one point in his youth admired, the Dortmund golden boy Mario was lauded as but in a different era.

But seeing the Nuri reserved for Marco made him sick with apprehension. When they crossed arms over each other's shoulders and their worlds narrowed down to just each other it was like Mario stopped existing. On some level he knew that Nuri wasn't interested in Marco like that, that their friendship was something that had been foraged long before Mario came into Marco's life. But on the level that was grinding his teeth and had his blood pounding in his ears all he could see was Nuri jokingly slapping Marco's ass and hands everywhere. It didn't matter that Nuri had done the same to him, to so many others. Mario just didn't think like that.

And he must have been staring because a finger pushed into his chest had him blinking in surprise.

"I don't know if you've seen the scoreboard, Götze, but we've won! You can smile now." Lewa leaned heavily on Mario so he stumbled and tore his eyes from the rest of the squad hugging and celebrating in front of him.

"I know this because I helped make it happen, my friend. As did you."

"Nuri is married with a child, you know that, Mario." Robert said sternly. Mario's eyes darkened. He considered denying it outright but knew that Robert already knew enough.

"That doesn't mean anything." He replied.

"It does for Nuri Şahin."

"Sure. It does until it doesn't."

"Maybe you are not confident in yourself. But I've seen the way he looks at you, I've seen the way you look at him, and it worries me." Robert said, and Mario saw genuine concern in crystalline blue.

It caused a flare of anger within Mario. Did Robert think that he would screw everything up? That he could not claim what is his and keep him forever?

"Don't worry about things that don't concern you." Mario said as he stalked away. From behind him he heard Robert mutter something in Polish but he didn't pause, he didn't think the words were meant for him. Instead he threw himself into the middle of the foray of players and tried to make it look like an accident as he elbowed Nuri out of the way to wrap his arm around Marco's waist.

And the way Marco's cheeks coloured slightly made Mario clutch him closer, drunk with happiness at the slightest of reaction. Marco draped his arm over Mario and smiled widely into Mario's face and for a moment Nuri stopped existing, standing awkwardly beside them.

"Marco, will you sit with me on the bus?"

"Of course, Mario."

Mario smiled a little smugly at Nuri who just smiled back innocently and congratulated Mario on the match. He felt guilty for the smallest of seconds because Nuri was being genuinely happy for all of them but he just wanted Nuri to move along.

They went their separate ways and agreed to save the other a seat depending on who got to the bus first. When Mario burst outside the sky was heavy with stars hanging low over the stadium and he climbed onto a bus already full of teammates. He walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to look too eager as he scanned the seats for Marco. He sped up his pace and pretended not to notice when he found him near the back, sitting next to Kevin. Marco didn't look up as Mario passed by their seat and Kevin was leaning into Marco's space, showing him something on his phone. Mario threw himself into an empty row and put his bag on the seat next to him so no one would interrupt. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the window and tried not to feel too upset over something so minuscule. This was one in hundreds of bus rides, and a short one to the hotel at that. Maybe Marco had forgotten he had said they'd sit together, maybe he just didn't want to be rude to Kevin, none of it was important. He tried to shake himself of the feeling but there was a burning in his chest at having been denied the time with him.

He fell asleep like that, pressed against the cold hard window, the oppressive darkness of the night glaring in at him, being bumped and jostled with every movement of the bus. The discomfort suited his mood and that somehow soothed him. When Marco went flying into the seat next to him though his head smashed against the window hard enough to wake him and he jumped in his seat.

"Sorry. That was an abrupt turn and I was trying to move your bag." Marco said as he stuffed Mario's bag under his seat. He pressed an apologetic squeeze into Mario's shoulder. "And sorry that Kevin stole your seat! I tried to tell him it was reserved but he wanted to show me pictures of his girlfriend and I guess I missed you passing by. I thought you'd forgotten me." Mario blinked stupidly for a few long moments, still groggy from sleep. He shifted uncomfortably, he couldn't remember what he was dreaming of but he was slightly aroused from whatever he had been thinking of moments before. When he finally met Marco's eyes, Marco starts to giggle. He presses the back of his hand to Mario's forehead which is tender from the window. "There is a mark. From the window." He left his hand there for a long moment, let it brush Mario's cheek as he withdrew it.

Mario had been trying to figure out how to adjust himself so that his arousal wouldn't be noticeable but instead he pushed his shoulders against the back of the seat and stretched. He saw Marco's eyes travel down his body, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and he ran a hand through his hair. Mario flushed happily and settled so that their knees were touching. "Your hand is very warm." He sighs. He almost wanted it to be obvious that he was imagining Marco sliding that hand past the waistband of his pants and stroking him to hardness. Pulling off his sweater to cover their laps as he jerks Mario off, biting back noises within earshot of teammates. Staring each other in the eyes to convey all the things they'd be doing much more loudly if only they were alone.

But they weren't alone, and when Mario accidentally makes eye contact with Sebastian he adjusts himself again and tries to shake the thoughts from his head. Looking over at Marco, hair just slightly dishevelled from his distracted hands and crooked grin fixed on his face, did not help him at all so he looked instead at the seat directly in front of him.

"Your forehead is very cold." Marco replied. This time he pressed just his thumb to the part that was the tenderest and probably the most red. Mario swatted his arm away. Marco jabbed him in the forehead again playfully but then he leaned his own head against the seat in front and peeked out at Mario under his outstretched arms. "Good match today." He said casually.

Mario just nodded, sleepiness making him blink. He leans his head against the window again but this time the cold is shocking and uncomfortable. He puts his hand between his temple and the window but then Marco is wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him gently, indicating that Mario can lean on him. He rests his head on Marco's shoulder and closes his eyes, trying to act like he's comfortable and not horny. It doesn't help him when Marco rests a casual hand on Mario's knee, absently rubbing his thumb across the inner part. They stay like this for some time. Mario continues to pretend to be asleep and tries to think of something that will make his erection go away so he can walk off the bus as there will surely be fans waiting for them outside the hotel, but Marco's hand is wreaking havoc on his mind.

Mario was thinking of their commitment to be friends. It had been working so far, although moments like this, somewhat intimate touches and casual affection, was a staple of their friendship. Most days it felt great but then on days like this all Mario could think of was Marco's warm mouth on his and his perfect body naked against his own. He wondered if Marco still thought of that day in the locker room, or if he was more committed than Mario and had pushed it from his mind. Just to see how he would react, Mario let one of his hands fall to rest on Marco's leg, further up his thigh than Marco's on his knee. He couldn't see Marco's face but felt him tense beneath him and his hand squeezed Mario's kneecap.

"Friendship has been going well." Mario comments. He feels Marco's throat move as he laughs silently.

"We've always been friends, Mario." He replies. Mario bites his lip.

"So you never think about...more?"

"Of course I do. I think about it all the time. More than I should." At this he gives Mario's knee another squeeze. "But...we both know what the right thing to do is." He finishes. Mario doesn't want to know the right thing. He lets his hand drift further and further up Marco's thigh. At first Marco just holds his breath, but when Mario's hand is resting just above his crotch, Marco snatches it up and bites the tip of his thumb, probably harder than he had meant. Mario rips his hand away.

"Ouch!"

"Well then don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Mario tries to reach his hand out again but Marco grabs it and twists his wrist. Mario braces his knees against the seat and attempts to yank his hand back again, but Marco's grip is tight. Mario, having brothers, should have been quicker to realize what would happen next, but still manages to smack the back of his head against the window when Marco unexpectedly releases his grip. Mario's face sours and Marco laughs as Mario rubs the back of his head.

"I told you not to do that." Marco tells him, leaning away from Mario as Mario contemplates a counter attack. Before he can react though two heads appear over the top of the seats in front.

"Do you two mind not flirting, your heavy petting is interrupting my nap." Leonardo taunts. Mario and Marco both cross their arms and glare at them. Marco and Moritz, who is directly in front of Marco, exchange a glance and Marco's cheeks colour as he turns to stare out the window.

"Oh, just turn around, Bittencourt." Mario snaps back, throwing his palm up towards Leo's face but he ducks and he and Moritz both turn back to their own seats.

"What was that?" Mario asked, trying to keep his tone level but panic was bubbling in his throat.

"Bittencourt being an asshole, is this news to you?" Marco replied, a wry smile and finally he made eye contact with Mario again. "He's only joking, he didn't mean anything by the comment," Marco continued when he saw Mario's face.

"I meant the look you gave Moritz." Mario replied. Mario had always seen Moritz as his competition on the pitch, and now he was realizing just how cute he is. Had Marco been talking to Moritz too? He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn't shake the thought.

"Leitner? I don't know what you mean..." Mario could have sworn that at this point Marco didn't quite meet his eyes.

"He's good looking." Mario commented, a practised air of calmness in his tone. Marco made a non-committal noise in response. "You have to admit he is good looking, maybe even the best looking on the team." Mario pressed.

"He is cute." Marco conceded. "But not the best looking on the team."

"Who then?" Mario asked. He knew it was a casual conversation, but the words came out of him abruptly as though he was angry. Marco looked over at him, smiled broadly so that Mario felt encompassed in the warmth of his gaze. Without even trying to, Mario smiled back, and his stomach did a small back flip.

"I am!" Marco replied in mock surprise, as though the answer were obvious. Which it was. He grinned now and Mario had to laugh. "Moritz is too young for me." Marco said after a few moments of silence.

"He's the same age as me!"

"Yes, he is." Marco agrees.

"Moritz!" Mario calls, and Moritz appears over the seat again. He smiles warmly at him and Mario glares back. "When's your birthday?" He asks.

"December. The 8th, don't you remember we played the home game that day and everyone sang to me in the locker room and--"

"Okay Leitner you can turn around now." Mario waved a hand impatiently at him and he frowned adorably at them before turning back around.

"I am older." Mario declared triumphantly.

"6 months makes no difference if you insist on behaving like you are 12." Marco laughed. Mario crossed his arms and harrumphed, even more annoyed that this act only further proved Marco's point.

"He has a girlfriend." Marco says pointedly, reading Mario's mind. This conversation again. It's like Lewa and Marco think that everyone on the planet is faithful and true to their word all of the time.

"As do you." He replies coldly. He knows he is being confusing and is unsure himself what emotions he is conveying.

"That's not fair." Marco said quietly, intense suddenly. Mario looked at him and suddenly Marco looked a bit sad. Mario crossed his arms again and stared fixedly out the window, but he couldn't remember what he had been trying to accomplish. It certainly wasn't to hurt Marco's feelings.

"Sorry." He finally mumbled. Marco didn't respond. Mario spent the rest of the bus ride trying to find the right words. They all seemed to fall above and below what he actually wanted to say. At least his arousal had all but dissipated.

"I'm sorry about...saying that or whatever." Mario said awkwardly as the bus pulled up outside the hotel. Marco gave him another winning smile.

"It's fine my friend." Marco said, casually squeezing his shoulder again. They walked off the bus together, signed a few autographs and sat next to each other through the team meeting in companionable silence. When they walked to their rooms they paused in front of Marco's door and Mario floundered.

When Marco noticed Mario wasn't in a hurry to leave, he pressed casually against his door and smiled through a yawn.

"Well...it's almost curfew."

"Right." Mario agreed. "Listen, about what I said before..."

"It's alright Mario, really. It just made me think about things a bit. That's not a bad thing."

"I only said it because I don't like the idea of anyone else being tied to you." Mario blurted out. He felt his ears reddening, and Marco stared at him for a few seconds before he smiled.

"I'm not like you, Mario. Carolin and I? We've never been together like that. We're only friends. There's nothing to worry about." He frowned at himself then. "But none of it matters, I'll see you tomorrow, Sunny." He left Mario standing on his doorstep with his thoughts.

After a moment Mario climbed the stairs another floor to his own room. He went in and stared at his bed for what seemed a ridiculous amount of time to stare at a bed. But it was quite a short amount of time for him to decide how he wanted to proceed.

In his head, Mario could build up hundreds of reasons to justify what we wanted to do next, but it boiled down to one thing. Marco was not his, when for all the world all Mario wanted was exactly that. Maybe it was childish, but the idea of anyone, Nuri, Carolin, Moritz, being to Marco anything near what Marco was to him, drove him to an anger so encompassing he thought he could combust. It was fickle, he knew it was. But that didn't matter. He needed Marco. Maybe he is just a boy, but that much he knew for certain. It wasn't a matter of making a decision, it was a matter of quelling the fire that Marco had been smoldering in his mind and heart since that day in the locker room when Marco had given them all a glimpse of himself that no one had ever given Mario before. And ever since that day all Mario could ever think of was getting more. 

He paused for a moment to check himself in the mirror and then headed back out of his room again. He paused on the threshold between the safety of his room and the corridor. It was past 11, the rest of the squad would be asleep so he wasn't too worried about meeting anyone on his way. Still he remained frozen one step inside his door. At the last second he turned back into his room, rifled in a pocket in his bag for something and then swiftly stepped into the corridor, slamming his door a little too hard in his haste to take the plunge. He took the elevator down to the floor below, willing himself to be calm, and without pausing at Marco's door he knocked quietly.

When Marco saw him on the other side he didn't say a word, just stood aside to let him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always encouraging :)


	22. Flesh and Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario.

"Mario, what are you--" Before Marco could get the sentence out of his mouth, Mario was in his mouth instead, pushing the words back into his throat, willing them to stay there forever. To never ask again why Mario should be here, in Marco's room, with his tongue in his mouth and his hands on his waist.

"I don't care, Marco." Mario says fiercely between gasps and pulling at clothes and a bit of a skuffle as they found a balance against the wall. This time Marco kissed him back, insistently, passionately, fleetingly. He pulls away, holds Mario at arms length.

"This is a bad idea." 

"It isn't!" Mario responds. He steps away from Marco. Strips off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor. "It's not a bad idea, Marco, it can't be. Something like this, that feels like this, it can't be." He slides his trousers slowly over his ass and Marco is watching him, lips parted and eyes glazed over, an unmistakeable bulge visible in his own sweats. Before he can take his boxers off too Marco is pressing up against him again. One hand cups Mario's balls, the exact way he imagined he would on the bus. The exact feeling he thought he would feel spreads heavy and hot across his body, all the way to a tingling in his toes. The cotton of his boxers is soft on his skin and the swishy fabric of Marco's trousers is cool against his bare legs.

"Are you sure, Mar?" Marco murmurs, tracing a finger along Mario's lips, watching him intently. A hunger and bare desire in his eyes that Mario had never seen before, had never been allowed to see. And something else, power. Marco wraps his hand around Mario's thigh, shifts them so he's pressing agains the heat between Mario's legs. They both feel pretty damn sure to Mario. 

"It doesn't matter. It won't change anything." Mario manages to gasp. "We know what the most important thing is." He adds wildly, mind racing as he tries to think of something, anything to appease Marco. The moment is pressing in on him and he needs more than anything else for Marco to say yes.

"Mario..." It feels like so close to winning. Mario pulls Marco's sweats down over his thighs and when he doesn't complain he reaches a hand past the waistband of his briefs, strokes awkwardly, handed constricted by the fabric and he feels Marco harden in his hand. They kiss again, and he can feel Marco being lost in it all, so close to giving in.

"Marco, please..." Mario whispers, their foreheads pressed together, Mario gripping him tighter, stroking faster, Marco bright eyed and blissed out. "I know you want me. Fuck me now and we'll sort it later." He pulls down Marco's briefs and rubs the head of Marco's cock across his bare stomach.

Weeks of pent up sexual tension reached a breaking point and snapped faster than Mario could plead for him to give in one more time. In one quick motion Marco pulled Mario and pushed him onto the bed, collapsing on top of him and kissing him deeply, yanking down his boxers and taking him in his hand. Mario moaned loudly, kissing back, sucked at Marco's lower lip. It seemed to be becoming a pattern of taking things quickly as Marco fumbled a little as he reached a hand across to the bedside table for lube and a condom. 

"Shit, I've left it in my nightbag." Marco whines, a desperate edge in his tone as if his nightbag were a million miles away and not on the floor nearby. "And I've left my nightbag on the bus."

Mario has to consciously force all thoughts from his brain and tells Marco that he's brought some in his pocket. Marco quickly fetches it and returns the bed. Pulling Mario against him so his hard cock is pressing against Mario's lower back. Mario turns his head to kiss him and Marco strokes him slowly, thrusting in time against him. The kiss is sloppy and wet and so fucking hot and Mario is pressing back against Marco and they start to get carried away.

"You need to fuck me now." Mario groans, putting a hand over Marco's own around his cock. As Marco opens the contents on the bed behind him Mario reaches back, runs his fingers through Marco's hair. Before they begin Marco pulls Mario against him again, kisses his neck, rolls one of his nipples between two fingers.

"Fuck, Mario, I want you so badly." Marco moans as Mario turns over and gets on all fours. Marco is a little too eager, pushes in too hard and too quickly and Mario collapses onto the bed. Mario cries out from both the pain and the intense feeling of pleasure at the feeling of Marco filling him. He straightens up again and Marco pushes back in, slower this time.

"God, fuck me, Marco." Mario moans loudly and Marco immediately picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin and Mario's heavy breaths the only sound for a bit. Marco holds Mario's hips to get the best angle and it only takes a minute or two before Mario is gritting his teeth, moans forcing their way between his lips, begging his body to hold on a little longer. Begging for it to carry on forever. 

"Oh god, I'm close." Marco says desperately, pressing his forehead against Mario's back, trying to slow down, taking in a ragged breath as he tips precariously towards the edge. 

"I am too, fuck me hard. Do it now. Fuck." Mario grabs Marco's hand and guides it to his cock, dripping with precome and Marco strokes a little out of time as he thrusts hard into Mario, fast and erratic and stuttering. Mario holds himself up with one arm and wraps a hand around Marco's own to steady him. Marco groans loudly as he spends himself inside Mario, and Mario tightens around him as he moans and spills across the bed. He presses his face into the mattress, resisting the urge to collapse on top of the bed they've just soiled. His forehead is hot against the fabric and his heart beats hard, his breaths still coming out in gasps. After a moment Marco pulls out and pads across the floor to the bathroom. Mario hears the water running in the next room and is suddenly struck by the fleetingness of the moment. Just seconds ago he had Marco. Does he still have him now or does it end with the climax between their legs? Marco walks back fully nude and still hard and the satisfaction and splendour of Marco's body makes Mario forget the depth of his thoughts for a time. 

Marco finds a spare comforter in the wardrobe and pulls the other one back off the bed as Mario puts his boxers on. Without discussion they climb into the bed and lay side by side on their backs. Marco pulls the comforter up around them, tucks it under Mario's chin. They lay like that for a while, the silence languid; stretching out for miles so serene and absolute. 

"What did you mean earlier?" Marco says quietly after a while.

"When?"

"That we'll sort it later." 

"I dunno really." Mario replies, and he giggles as Marco turns sharply to consider him. "I mostly just wanted to get you into bed." He admits.

"I guess it worked." Marco says, a little sullenly. Mario turns on his side, brushes a few strands of hair from Marco's face. Marco watches him, his eyes warm and bright. If this moment could carry on forever...

There was a moment right before they actually fucked when Mario thought of Nuri, thought of Carolin, thought of all the other people that weren't allowed to do this. And it was selfish and it was foolish and it was so many bad things but it was this thought more than anything that caused Mario to continue. 

"I want you and I don't want to share you." He says determinedly. 

"Someone is going to get hurt..." Marco murmurs. The vulnerability in his tone insists it will be himself. But Marco, Marco's been in love before. Mario has only this. And if this falls apart he has nothing at all.

"We don't have to make a big deal out of it. I like you. You like me. Let's have sex sometimes." Mario says coolly. The opposite of what he's thinking. What he's thinking gets caught in his chest. Rests there in it's cage. Sometimes it paces impatiently, struggles with Mario to escape. But not tonight. Tonight Mario couldn't coax it out if he tried.

"And if it gets too complicated? If it affects other parts of our life?"

"Then we end it. Simple as." Mario shimmies closer on the bed, presses his thigh against Marco's. Marco wraps an arm around Mario's shoulders and Mario turns so he's the little spoon. 

"If you say so." Marco yawns against the back of Mario's neck. He's probably imagining it but Mario can swear he feels Marco's eyelashes brush against his skin as he closes his eyes and gives in to their exhaustion.

Mario closes his eyes as well and there's Nuri again, popping back into his head. Then Mo, bashful smile and round eyes as he considers Marco with a look that makes Mario want to punch him in the face. Blood coarses through his body and his exhaustion slips away from him and fear takes over. Nobody else can go near Marco. Too many have already. Mario can feel Marco's heart beating against his shoulder blades and his own heart races as he lets the fear overtake him. The idea of anyone else making Marco's heart beat clutches in his chest, rattles his ribcage. Eyes wide open he stares at strange patterns revealing themselves in the wall and thinks in circles about how easy something so intangible as the affections of another person was so easy to lose. The idea that an emotion that felt so monumental within him could be within Marco small enough to clasp in both hands. The elusive impossibility of trying to measure them both in relativity. What is the unit of measurement for love?

Unfortunately, there would be talk if they left the room together in the morning, so Mario slipped out of bed when he heard that Marco's breathing had slowed to a pattern resembling sleep. He slipped back into his clothes, slipped out of Marco's room, up 2 flights of stairs and back into his own. He lay on a bed vacant and cold. There were so many reasons he could think up for why he did what he did, and maybe some of them were the ones that counted, but they weren't at the forefront of his mind. Instead of climbing into bed, he wrapped the comforter over himself while he still lay on top of it, and vowed to never let anyone look at Marco the way he did ever again.

Oh Mar, some things you just can't control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm the king of unfinished works. Can you believe I've been contributing to this work for over a year now...and I've only covered the span of a few monthgs. I really do love this pairing though and I have a few chapters (and ideas) unpublished. Let me know you guys are still around and I'll try to make a habit out of this one again.


End file.
